


Monkey Business:  A Midsummer's Night Dream

by dragonbabezee



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Bad Taste, Comedy, F/M, Farce, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 72,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonbabezee/pseuds/dragonbabezee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a perfect, moon lit summer night at Capsule Corporation.  Bulma is bored and Vegeta is...well, you'll see.  Not my usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Midsummer Night's Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Be warned, this is not like my other writing!
> 
> Previously a one shot, but now multi chapter!
> 
> This is a submission for the Fan Art inspired fic challenge set by MayMayB on the Google+ community We're Just Saiyan. I wasn't going to enter but then over a sleepless night, this idea burned its way into my brain (possibly scarring it in the process?). It's smutty, it's silly and it's not exactly in good taste! If you get to a point when you say "What the hell am I reading?" rest assured, I felt the same way when I sat down and wrote it. Perhaps this story would have been better left unwritten, but I had publicly committed myself by the time I realized that what seemed so funny as I lay in bed, delirious from lack of sleep...well, you be the judge. Direct from my id to your screens.
> 
> Also, a big thanks to my excellent beta Adli! She's a top gal, and she really knows her grammar.

_The fan art that inspired this madness, "Never Too Busy"_

_by a multi-fandom fan artists and fic writer who goes by **g_girl143**_

_on this site, **gwendy**  on fanfiction.net and **gwendy85** on_

_Deviant Art. Check out her stuff! She has lots of it._

 

 

Finding herself with little to do that day, either in the lab or the house, or otherwise finding herself occupied by some request of Vegeta's, Bulma had opted to plunge back into a long neglected hobby – the building and flying of hoverbikes. Her mind, now attuned to the complexities of interstellar travel and gravity manipulation, took off into overdrive as soon as she pulled the sheet of her most recently shelved project – a cherry red thing with vintage curves. By lunchtime she had gutted it and replaced nearly every single internal component, and by mid afternoon she'd be damned if she didn't have the fastest, most manoeuvrable hover bike on the planet.

Taking it for a spin in her typical reckless manner she circled the compound at breakneck speed before taking off over the city, buzzing the traffic control tower and racing back to Capsule Corp before the controllers had time to finish choking on their coffee.

She barrel-rolled the thing over the house, enjoying the feeling of the g-forces trying to rip her from the saddle, then took it low through the garden, scaring her mother and hunching down to fly under the clothes line between the drying sheets so fast that they were torn from the line by the wind of her passing. To complete her test run she immediately pulled of into a loop-the-loop, her grin turning to a smirk at the top of the loop when, upside down, she spotted Vegeta standing on the lawn halfway between the house and Capsule 3, watching her aerial antics. Deciding to give him something to really gawk at, she took the bike up as if for another loop, but instead continued riding it vertically into the sky, her arms and legs shaking a little from the effort of holding on in such a position, until the engine stalled and the bike began to fall. She pulled back on the handlebars, flipping the falling bike over until it was falling upright again, and chortling, tweaked the ignition to gun the engine once more. Nothing happened.

'Oh fuck!' she hissed as she turned the key repeatedly and the ground continued rush towards her. On the fourth attempt the engine spluttered to life and the bike leapt forward, and pulling up as hard as she could on the handlebars she prevented it from crashing into the ground, and stopped it in an impressively short distance and managed to avoid driving head long into the house.

Heart pounding, she leapt from her bike and turned triumphantly to look across the garden to where Vegeta stood. He only shook his head and continued his way into the spaceship.

Cursing the loose connection on the ignition, Bulma capsulated the hover bike with shaking hands.  _You almost killed yourself then_ , she told herself.  _You're too old for this kind of shit!_

Sighing, she took the bike back to her shop and had the ignition fixed in a couple of minutes. Then she pulled the sheet over it again.

Flying like a maniac was something she'd been known for when she was young, and she wasn't sure where this resurgence of recklessness had come from. Maybe it was just that she'd been so bored lately? Or so helpless feeling? The threat of the androids was pressing down on all of them, but all she could do about it was to support Vegeta in his training and make this world seem like a place worth him fighting for. Most of the time this didn't provide enough distraction from the thoughts that plagued her. She struggled to take in interest in Capsule Corporation's affairs beyond one or two things of personal interest in the R+D lab. She almost never went out, and the few friends she had seemed to have stopped calling. Ever since the Boy From the Future had delivered his frightening prophecy it felt like her whole life was on hold until that day the androids actually showed up.

One thing that was no longer on hold though was Yamcha. Things had been getting nasty between them ever since they heard about the androids, and frankly, they hadn't been too wonderful even before that. She had felt like he wasn't giving his training his all, and he had accused her of not giving enough time or attention to their relationship. After Vegeta blew up the ship and nearly himself, she'd been so preoccupied with Vegeta's health and the rebuild that she hadn't seen Yamcha for a month. When he finally came around of his own volition it was to see that she was all right and to call it quits. They finally admitted to themselves that they weren't right for each other, but they agreed to remain friends. She'd faced their break up with less pain than she had expected. She'd purged all the songs that reminded her of him from her playlists, cut her hair and waited for the gnawing regret that would inevitably drive her back to him. But this time it never came.

And now she was bored and thinking too much.

* * *

After dinner Bulma picked up the racy novel she was halfway through and quieted her mind with the romantic suspense between Prudence the pauper noble woman and Sebastian the highway robber. Her nose was still in her book when she found herself in the kitchen taking the half-drunk bottle of Pinot Gris out of the fridge. As she was about to refill her glass she noticed how much of the bottle was gone already. It had been opened at dinnertime, and other than a thimbleful that her mother had sipped, she'd drunk the rest herself.

'Really, Bulma? This is getting to be a habit,' she muttered to herself. She put the bottle back and her glass in the dishwasher and cast about for something to do that didn't involve indulging bad habits. She couldn't go upstairs yet – her parents had announced ten minutes ago that they were going to go watch a movie in bed, and over the years Bulma had come to know this was code for Watch Porn and then Do It.

Looking out of the kitchen window she noticed that the lights in Capsule 3 weren't on. Vegeta had finished training for the day before midnight, which was a rarity. She decided to take this opportunity to perform a much needed system check and maintenance. Normally doing it in the day time required a difficult coaxing of the Saiyan away from the equipment, although he had been a little more agreeable and amiable about it since he recovered from his accident. She sensed that he trusted her and her father a little more. He certainly gave her more attention these days, although much of this attention involved silent stares of consideration. She felt a lurch of excitement at the memory of his eyes on her. She'd take any other man to task for staring at her so openly, but with Vegeta she had no idea what he was thinking - whether he was appreciating her assets or plotting her murder as he had promised her a few times. Perversely she found this far more exciting than the men who were obvious in their admiration of her. She wondered where he was if he wasn't training.

_He's dangerous_ , she reminded herself, and only felt another, even more powerful tingle run through her _. Just check the stupid ship Bulma!_

She fetched her toolbag and headed out into the garden.

Once outside she slowed her business-like pace and looked around in wonder. It was a breathless midsummer night, and though she wore only short shorts and a strapless top, the air felt velvety warm on her bare shoulders and legs. What astonished her though was the full moon beaming down, turning the lawn to silver and the flowers to glowing, pale ghosts of themselves. This was the first full moon since Kami had restored it, and she had not realised how much she had missed it until this moment. Spellbound, she shucked her shoes, set down the toolbag, and turned away from Capsule 3.

She wandered deeper into the garden, between the bushes, roses and pergolas, breathing deeply to pull in the scent of the blooming flowers, heavy and sweet in the dark. She stopped at an arbour that was draped with honeysuckle and plucked a glowing blossom, putting it to her lips to suck the nectar.

'What are you doing?' said a deep, calm voice.

She jumped slightly in fright, not realising till that moment that she wasn't alone. Only a few yards from her Vegeta lay on his back in the grass, his head turned towards her.

'What are  _you_  doing?' she countered to cover her fluster. 'Lying between the flowerbeds hoping to startle young women?'

He snorted. 'I asked first.'

'I was sipping nectar from the honeysuckle if you must know.'

He jumped to his feet with a sudden, fluid grace and joined her.

'You drink the flowers?'

'Yeah, sure. I used to do it all the time when I was a kid. Try it.'

She handed him a blossom, their fingers grazing as she passed it over, returning all the tingling she had felt before when thinking of him. He sucked on the end and then gave a grunt of mild surprise.

'Tastes sweet,' he said. 'Like honey.'

'That's why they call it honeysuckle. Now what were  _you_  doing lying on the grass out here?'

'Watching the full moon.'

'Uh huh,' she said, and then a thought occurred to her. 'I guess it must be weird for you looking at the full moon and not…you know…'

'Transforming into the giant Oozaru?'

'Yes.'

'You have no idea,' he said, turning back to the light. His face was oddly slack she saw, his eyes wide open, drinking in the sight. She was sure she had never seen him so relaxed, nor had she heard him say so many words without shouting or throwing in insults and demands. 'I can still feel its pull, but nothing happens.'

'Are you glad Kami wished it back?'

He paused for a long moment, considering his reply. 'Yes,' he said in the end.

'But it makes you sad?' she ventured.

Vegeta gave a low chuckle and looked at her sidelong. 'Don't presume to know how I feel, Woman,' he said, but there was no anger in the words. 'The moon has significance for my people beyond the ability to transform into the great apes.'

'Like?'

'It's a signal for change. For metamorphosis. For new beginnings and old endings. And passion - for war, for flesh, for mating…The moon was full on Planet Vegeta only once every eight years. I've heard it was quite a spectacle when it happened.'

'I bet it was,' she said, imagining a planet full of mad, hungry, horny giant apes. 'Well I'm glad that Kami wished it back. I've missed her. She's beautiful.'

'Beauty is just a distraction,' he said, still looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

'But it's a nice distraction,' she said. 'There's nothing wrong with taking a moment to enjoy the beautiful things.'

His face tightened as he almost succeeded in suppressing a smile, and he turned back to the moon.

Bulma felt breathless from this rare exchange of words that were not only civil, but bordered on the pleasant. He never normally stood this close to her – usually he didn't like to stand within four feet of anyone. She wanted to stay and linger in his presence some more, but couldn't think of any legitimate excuse.

'Well, I'd better…go do that gravity simulator maintenance I came out to do.'

Vegeta grunted and made no move to stop her as she slowly padded back across the lawn in her bare feet. Another bolt of frustrated yearning hit her, the strongest yet, and sent heaviness to her heart as well as her loins.  _That poor man_ , she thought, turning to look over her shoulder as she stepped into the ship.  _He's so alone in this world_.

Vegeta was watching her over his shoulder too. Then he turned away and lay back down on the grass.

Bulma repressed the mad urge to run back and throw herself on top on him, and climbed the steps into Capsule 3.

Inside she flicked on the lights and then flicked them off again. The yellow light was garish after the coolness of the moonlight. Instead she took a blue-white LED task light from her bag and held it over her as she worked. She initiated the diagnostics on the ship's computer and then knelt down to open the access panel with her screwdriver. Inside was the heart of the gravity simulator. She checked the levels on the coolant, the mercury, and the integrity of the housing. Then she checked the results of the diagnostics and was almost done when a silhouette in the doorway blocked the light from outside.

'Are you waiting for me to finish?' she asked. 'I'm almost done.'

She got back down on her knees to do the panel up with her screwdriver when she sensed movement behind her. She gasped with shock when something wrapped itself around her middle.

'Vegeta?' she said, both alarmed and excited. She clamped her own arm over his as it began sliding upwards, only to find it wasn't an arm at all! 'Vegeta! What? Fur?' She tried to turn but found the grasp of the sinuous thing was too strong. Thighs pressed up alongside hers from behind, and breath tickled her ear. 'Vegeta is that really you?' she asked in fright.

'It is.' Something in his voice sent a tremor down her.

'What are you doing and why do you have a tail? Since when do you have a tail again?!'

'Since about a minute ago. I thought I'd better come inside before I caught sight of the moon again and transformed.' His tail loosened its grip and began its upward course again, pressing up against her bosoms and threatening to spill them out the top of her boob tube.

'And – and what are you doing?' she stammered.

'I think you know what I'm doing,' he replied, and leaned into her. He braced one hand against the console in front of them and his other joined his tail in its unhurried roaming.

'Uh-huh!' She was getting a pretty good idea anyway - he pulled her back against his lap and she could feel his intentions pressed right against her backside. 'I think you forgot to ask if I was okay with that!' she said, even as her hips gave her away, grinding herself into him.

'Oh,' he moaned. 'I think you just asked and answered your own question, don't you?'

Bulma flushed with her arousal and embarrassment at the swiftness of it. 'Okay, I – I'm fine with the idea.'

His tail coiled up her throat, tickling her skin before beginning to trail downwards again, pulling her top down with it. She snatched at the fabric only to find Vegeta's hand make it there first, holding the weight of one plump breast in his palm and running his thumb over her nipple.

She made only an inarticulate sound as she ground against him again, surprising herself. He rubbed his face up the side of her neck, inhaling all the way.

'Anyway, I didn't need to ask if you wanted me,' he said. 'I could  _smell_  it. Like a peach ripening under my nose day by day, until tonight I couldn't stand it any more.'

Where had this Vegeta come from? The quiet looks and one nice conversation didn't add up to this, did it?

'Vegeta, are you feeling yourself?'

'No, I'm feeling  _you_ ,' he said, huffing with laughter at his own joke. He laid more weight against her, pressing her down until her hands were against the floor and his body was wrapped over hers. His tail made its languorous way down her thighs and then up again to the crutch of her shorts. Bulma closed her eyes as she willed him to press against her. This wasn't her! She didn't go from nought to sixty in under a minute! Did she? They hadn't even kissed and he was down her top, between her legs and making her squirm.

'Well this peach doesn't do things like this! I barely know you!'

'I saw you today. You're reckless. You crave danger. You crave  _me_.'

The tip of his tail flicked against her and Bulma almost sobbed, bucking against him in demand even as she was still finding reasons to stop this from happening.

'It's just the tail and the moon! You don't really want to do this Vegeta. It's that Saiyan thing with the moon. It made your tail grow back somehow and now it's making you crazy.'

'It has nothing to do with the moon. The moon is just a signal for change. I've wanted you for  _months_. No - from the first second I saw you on Namek, but tonight I'm actually going to do something about it.'

At these words Bulma felt delight added to the heady mix of arousal. She had cared for Vegeta, obsessed over him, worried over him, and late at night, yearned for him, even when she lay in Yamcha's arms, never thinking it was a possibility. And very suddenly it was really happening.

He kissed down her neck and then opened his mouth to press his teeth against her skin gently, tasting her skin with his tongue while his hand stroked and his tail pressed and squirmed. Bulma felt the strength go out of her arms and she melted to her elbows, Vegeta following her down. She felt perilously close to being overwhelmed and subdued like some flighty animal for the mounting, but she'd be damned if she would take their first, and for all she knew, last, encounter, face down.

She dropped to one shoulder and twisted away from him, rolling over as best she could beneath him to get away. He gave some her space and asked 'Was I wrong?'

'No,' she said, blushing as she admitted it, 'but if you want to eat this peach you're going to do it on my terms.' She scrambled out from under him, pulling her top back up and knelt again, facing him this time. He was wearing a blue training jumpsuit, but no armour today. The tight material did nothing to hide the proportions of what she was getting herself into she noted with excitement.

'Eat?' he said, grinning at her.

'It's a metaphor.'

'I thought it was a euphemism.'

'The metaphor will happen, if you behave yourself, but you are more than welcome to include the euphemism along the way.'

She shuffled up to him and he bent his head to her chest, but she caught his head between her hands and brought it back up.

'Getting a bit ahead of ourselves aren't we? How about a nice kiss to get to know one another better?'

He looked puzzled. 'I already kissed you. Or do you mean what Earthlings do, with their lip to lip thing?'

'Yes. Wait! Don't tell me you've never-'

He silenced her question with a quick, and rather stiff kiss against her lips. 'There, done,' he said. 'I don't understand the obsession with the act.'

Bulma barely kept her astonished laughter contained. 'That's because you're doing it wrong! Let me demonstrate.' She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed herself close as she kissed him givingly on the lips. She kissed him again and again, hardly a pause between each until at last he began to copy her motions, open-eyed and watching her suspiciously. He wrapped his arms around her and began to rock against her gently with every kiss.

'Not. Too. Bad,' he said between contacts.

'Oh, Vegeta,' she said, pulling down on his chin, 'we've barely got started!' She kissed him again and this time slipped her tongue past his lips and through his parted teeth to meet his. He went rigid with surprise, and she took advantage of him opening his mouth to exclaim to delve in deeper.

'Nmmmm,' he groaned, and she felt a corresponding twitch from his erection against her belly. His hand went to her backside, pulling her hard against him as he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensations Bulma was now commanding. She roamed his mouth, giving him the grand tour of kisses; teasing, plunging, stroking and eventually lapping at his open lips with lascivious abandon until he joined in between panting breaths.

'And that's how an Earthling kisses her man,' she sighed against his lips. 'Do you get it now?' His only reply was to return the favour, taking charge of his own enthusiastic exploration of her mouth. His hand returned her front, kneading her breast and shortly she found herself with her top down around her waist again. With his other hand he pulled her even closer and higher so that her knees we no longer touching the ground and they opened of their own volition to squeeze either side of his thighs. Now, when he rocked his hips, the hardness of him pressed against the hot, wet flesh under her shorts and she moaned into his mouth at the strength of her body's reaction.

He pulled back. 'I think I can see the attraction now,' he gasped.

'You're a fast learner!' she told him in appreciation.

He grinned wickedly, his eyes narrowed and mocking as he said 'A superior warrior must be able to recognise a useful technique and quickly co-opt it into his repertoire.' He looked so damn evil, and her contrary heart squeezed a little tighter at the sight. What the hell was wrong with her?

'Oh, is that right? What is your next move then, worthy adversary?'

He kissed her neck, then licked it, nipped it and Bulma's eyes slid closed at this new assault of sensation. Disorientated, she was surprised to find the floor under her back, Vegeta's weight between her legs and his body covering hers as he kissed down her neck to her breasts. She buried her hand in his hair as he licked his way over one breast to her nipple, making her arch her back as he teased it with lips and tongue.

'It seems I have no counter measure for these,' he said, swapping to the other side.

'You seemed to have no problem conquering them though!'

One of his hands skimmed lower, down over her belly to settle between them on the damp fabric of the shorts between her legs. He slipped a finger up, under the hem and past the barrier of her knickers, touching the slipperiness that was crying out for contact. His fingers slid the length of her cleft and she jumped in a shock of pleasure as he touched her sensitive clit. When he changed direction and dipped a finger inside her they both groaned involuntarily. It shocked Bulma how quickly her private fantasies about the man were becoming a reality, and it really  _was that good_. It was all she could do not to writhe against his hand as he moved his fingers against her.

Was she really going to give it up to Vegeta on the floor of the spaceship on the first instance that they'd ever touched each other in something less than innocence?

Yes. Yes she was.

'Just…take them off Vegeta!'

He didn't need telling twice, not so much undoing the button of her shorts as flicking it off across the room, and then pulling either side of the flies so the zipper parted. She lifted her hips and he hauled them off her, and they joined the button somewhere in the dark recess of the ship. She came to her knees as well, ditching the top that had collected around her middle while Vegeta kicked his boots off and peeled down the jumpsuit. When he stood in all his naked glory in front of her in the dim light of the task lamp he looked her over in return and breathed, 'I want to see you in the moonlight.'

He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door before she remembered a very good reason not to follow this impulse.

'But you'll transform!'

'Not if you don't let me look at the moon,' he said. 'It's not her I want to see spreading her legs.'

Mildly stunned by this last comment Bulma let him lead her across the lawn again, while he kept his head low. Turning, he put his back to the moon and kissed her again, and Bulma had to admit that this student was a natural. As his hands moved to cup both her breasts she felt the furry appendage slide down her back and neatly tug her underwear down to fall at her ankles. The tail frightened her a little bit. Somehow she couldn't see it as a part of him, more as a third, silent participant in their encounter.

Vegeta took a step back, then dropped to his knees. Seeing the greedy look on his face as he took in the sight of her, she'd never felt as beautiful as she did then. Here was a man etched by a thousand battles, schooled by the Devil incarnate, driven by a brutal single mindedness, and left with the physical perfection of an angel - and he was worshipping at  _her_  feet.

'Come here,' he said, his voice husky with desire. She walked towards him, holding out her hands to take his, but instead he took hold of the back of her thighs, and with a glancing smirk up at her, he buried his face between her legs up to his nose. Bulma squealed at the sudden intensity of the sensation as he worked his tongue over her, and clutched at his head to steady herself. She was in no danger of falling though as he took a firmer grip under her bottom with one hand, then hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her up and giving him greater access as he licked and flicked his way across her swollen lips, darting into the passage they hid, then back, again and again over the centre of her pleasure until she lost track of her thoughts and the rest of her body and her mouth.

'Oh! Jeez! Ah! Oh my god!' she babbled as the knee of the leg she was still standing on gave way and she melted completely into Vegeta's mercy. He was making a noise that Bulma had never heard a human lover ever make – a kind of rhythmic growling that rumbled against her skin and through her bones until the vibration turned them to jelly as well as he gorged upon her. When he finally lowered her and looked back up, he looked dazed and said with difficulty 'And that is how a  _Saiyan_  kisses his woman.'

Bulma had no room in her mind past the thought that a few inches below her in his lap strained the only thing that could resolve the aching need to be filled that he'd built in her.

'Don't! Talk-' she gasped, pulling herself down upon him, 'Just…!'

Vegeta gasped as she slid over the tip of his dick, and then he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her hard, down into his lap, sheathing himself with a wordless cry in her heat. Bulma mewled, and didn't know if she would make it past a single stroke without climaxing, the sensation was so overwhelming already. When she lifted herself and they crashed together again she cried out anew. Looking down into those black eyes she saw that they had lost all their wickedness now and just stared back her; as astonished and lost in the moment as she was as they moved across the plateau of sexual bliss together, slowly and deliberately, neither wanting to hurry or miss out on a single drop of this heady joy.

Had she really had sex before? Bulma wondered. Never before had it been  _this_  good!

He caught one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked gently, kicking her enjoyment up  _another_  notch, and she knew she would not last much longer. She pulled his head up again and kissed him, felt the strange sensation of his tail taking up where his lips had left off at her breasts, and heard herself moaning with every stroke as she pressed herself harder against him, pushing him back until he lay on the grass below her, eyes wide as he grunted and thrust.

'Vegeta,' she whispered, closing her eyes as she felt the tightness in her loins building to unbearable levels. 'Oh, Veg-'

Suddenly she was pitched roughly sideways to tumble on the ground.

'What the FUCKING HELL?' she shouted, turning back to him, and then her tongue cleft to the roof of her mouth in terror. His eyes were glowing red, and as she watched his nose and mouth grew out of his face, elongating into a snout, and his whole body shuddered as it inflated like a balloon.

'Aaarrr-rraaGHH!' he screamed as hair began to burst through the skin all over his body, and he seemed to explode outwards as he transformed into the Oozaru in a matter of seconds, the giant monkey blocking her way to the house.

Bulma danced on the spot for a second of brain-melting panic and then turned and ran out of range of one of his enormous fists as it came flopping down upon the lawn. As the beast rolled to its haunches and turned its massive head towards her she finally found her voice and screamed, then bolted off towards the tennis courts. She screamed again as she saw vast fingers and a thumb outpace her and close around her.

'No, no!'

'Where do you think you're off to?' said an impossibly massive and deep voice. She whooshed through the air in the encircling grip of the monkey as it brought her up to its hairy, ugly face.

'Please don't eat me!' she cried.

'I already did, remember?'

'You - What? You just talked!'

'And here I thought you were a genius,' the monkey said, its massive lips revealing a mouth lined with sharp teeth a foot long.

'Vegeta?'

He just cocked his head and watched her, the expression even harder to read in the animal features and the blood red eyes.

'Goku never spoke when he turned into the monkey.'

'I'm insulted that you should compare me to that weak-minded fool. I don't lose control of myself when I transform.'

'So it's still Vegeta in there?'

'Correct.'

She stared into one frightening eye. Now that her fear was cooling off she began to be aware of her thwarted release.

'Why did you let yourself transform?' she complained. 'Is this your idea of a joke?'

'A joke? I'm not finding this very funny. I'm more than a little frustrated right now. You were supposed to stop me looking at the moon!'

'I was? How am I supposed to keep track of what you're looking at?'

'You  _pushed_  me over! I couldn't help seeing it.'

'You could have stopped me!'

'Well I wasn't thinking straight!'

'And you think I was?' Bulma shut her mouth suddenly, realising that she was edging a bit close to admitting some responsibility. 'If you recall, I was opposed to you even going back outside again!'

They both growled in annoyance and regret, but Vegeta's was much louder.

'Can't you turn back then?' she asked testily.

'No. Until the moon sets or goes behind a cloud, I'm stuck like this.'

'Great. Couldn't you have waited five more seconds?'

'Five more seconds and I wouldn't have had the presence of mind to put you aside before transforming.'

'What now, then?'

He shifted his hand up to his face, and inclined his hand so that when he opened his fingers Bulma half lay, half sat in his palm, naked. The movement rubbed her slick thighs together, making her pout with disappointment at the broken promise of screaming ecstasy.

'Damn,' he said simply as he inspected her. 'And I can smell you even  _better_ in this form!'

He moved his snout and terrifying teeth closer to her, snuffling like a pig after a truffle, and Bulma pressed back into his palm and screeched.

'Get those away – stay back!'

'What?'

'Those teeth make me very nervous!'

He laughed. She folded her arms in front of her breasts, feeling self conscious and vulnerable in front of this monster.

'You should put me down,' she said. 'I guess the fun is over for tonight.'

'You would leave the job unfinished?'

'Well…there's nothing to be done if you can't transform back.'

Vegeta made a sound like a sad lion and closed his eyes and his mouth, bringing his twitching nostrils close to her again. 'So close,' he sighed with his massive, rumbling voice.

'Hey,' she said, feeling highly cheated herself, and gingerly patting him on the nose. It still didn't seem like Vegeta – just a giant talking monkey. 'We can always try again tomorrow night.'

'Or…' He opened his eyes and mouth a crack and extended a huge, flat, pink tongue, licking up the front of her and shifting her arms out the way to roll over both breasts at once, rubbing her sensitised nipples.

'Hey!' she squealed. 'I'm not comfortable with that! I'm not an ice cream cone! You might accidentally snarf me.'

She whooshed through the air as he lowered her from his face. 'I don't suppose you could…' he trailed off as he brought her close to his lap. Bulma let out a shriek of horror as she was confronted with an eight-foot phallus jutting out of the fur like a pink totem pole.

He butted her up against it gently, and she turned her face away and braced her feet against it to keep herself from being rubbed into it, her brain recoiling in disgust.

'Oh god, stop it! Stop it! Get that thing the fuck away from me!'

She followed her words with a punch, as hard as she could manage, that made the monolith wobble a bit in a highly disturbing way.

'All right, it was only an idea,' he grumbled, and lifted her away again.

'A fucking stupid idea! Did you think of it with your tiny monkey brain or your giant monkey dong? I don't think even Anne Darrow had to put up with this kind of treatment! Put me down! Urgh!'

He rolled onto his knees and crouched to lay his hand on the ground, and then tipped her out of it. Bulma popped to her feet and kicked his finger in indignation.

'Fine,' he said. 'I don't know what I was thinking, wanting to get off with a shrew like you.'

' _Shrew?_ ' she screeched back at him. 'You're a hundred foot monkey, with a face like a children's nightmare! Nobody in a million years would want to get off with  _that!_ '

'I'm still me, and you weren't adverse to the idea a few minutes ago.'

'Well that was before you turned so scary-ugly that I'm going to have to wash out my eyes with soap before I can sleep soundly!'

He growled. 'I guess you are as shallow as you've always seemed. Go away. I want nothing more to do with you.'

Bulma backed away a few steps and he made no move to come after her, so she turned and started walking back towards the house. His words had stung her though. She wasn't shallow! No-one would want to be touched and held close by that… _thing!_

She slowed. That thing was Vegeta, who she had been so sympathetic towards when he looked like a human. He hadn't  _wanted_  to transform. Why couldn't she be sympathetic now? Maybe she  _was_  being shallow? If she spurned him now, in their first encounter, would she get another chance with him?

Turning back she saw him still on his hands and knees, staring dejectedly at the ground. With a sudden return of empathy she realised she'd probably hurt his feelings. She walked back to him, and taking a deep breath to quell the primitive fear that approaching a giant, savage monster naturally evoked, she forced herself to walk between his hands and look up at his face hanging over her. The glowering eyes widened slightly at the sight of her, and she couldn't help trying to cover her bits with her hands.

'I'm sorry I called you ugly,' she said. 'I'm sure you're a very good looking Oozaru.'

He snorted, blasting her with warm monkey breath. 'I'm about as ugly an Oozaru as I am a Saiyan.'

'Well, that settles it then. You're not ugly at all.'

'Silly woman, do you think you can fool me? I don't care if you think I'm ugly or not anyway. Go to your bed and leave me to suffer this in peace.'

Bulma was upset that her olive branch had not done the trick. She reached out and patted on giant knuckle. 'I'll wait here with you. I don't mind,' she said softly.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then his eyes closed slowly in acquiescence. He turned his hand over and she gave the oversized pinkie next to her a sympathetic hug, and then, as it seemed the only way to be close to him, she climbed back into his palm and lay back on it like it was a chaise lounge.

He lowered his muzzle to her again, his nostrils big enough to inhale dinner plates and small animals as he drew breath. 'You smell as good as you look, and you look so, so vulnerable,' he said, taking in the sight of her sprawled in his hand.

She blushed slightly. 'Well, don't take advantage of it by, like, eating me or anything, right?'

He shifted his other hand to bring one giant finger to hover over her. She caught the finger by its massive claw-like nail and pushed it away from her with all her might before he had a chance to stroke her with it.

'Don't even think about it buddy! You're not fondling me with that dangerous thing.'

Vegeta groaned with frustration. 'Then touch yourself!' he said breathlessly.

'What?' she asked, sure she was misunderstanding.

'Touch yourself. Pleasure  _yourself_.'

Bulma gawped in disbelief and had a refusal on the tip of her tongue when she felt the stirrings of lust travel down her body to her groin at the thought. What would she have done anyway, had she gone inside the house? She would have taken matters into her own hands while she replayed in her mind every pleasurable thing she and Vegeta had done tonight.

'And what will you be doing while I do that?' she asked meekly, blushing hard.

'Watching you and doing the same. Do it! It's the only release you and I will have together tonight.'

Bulma looked away from the intense and frightening eyes. She'd never done this with Yamcha or anyone else. Masturbation was always the most private of pleasures, and the thought of anyone else watching her do it brought on a flush of hot shame. At the same time, the thought that they would also be getting off on it while she did it was making her wet again before she'd even set her hands to work.

'Okay,' she said, darting a look back at the monster salivating over her. That wouldn't do. She lay back and closed her eyes to block out the sight of him. 'Um…'

She cupped her breasts, and feeling more than a little absurd, rolled her thumbs over her nipples, making them leap to attention immediately. A warm gust of wind accompanied Vegeta's sigh as he saw this, and Bulma froze for a second with embarrassment before forcing herself to go on. She wasn't sure, all of a sudden, whether she should be aiming to please herself or aiming to please his gaze, or what that really involved anyway. She was no stranger to self-gratification, but that normally involved no consideration as to how she  _looked_  while she was doing it.

'Have you become shy? You weren't so shy before,' he teased in his huge, rumbling voice. With her eyes closed she could imagine it was still Vegeta in his humanoid form, his voice coming over a PA system, distorted and over amped as he watch her from on high.

'Yes. I mean, no. What do you want to see?'

'What do you mean? I want to see you come. I want to see your face while you do it and hear the noises you make.'

This answer was both reassuring and a turn on, but Bulma's anxiety was not so easily deflected. 'But how should I do it?'

'I don't know!' he said with surprise. 'However you normally do. However you feel like. You do know  _how_  to don't you?'

'Of course! I mean…um. I have  _some_  experience…'

'Woman, you are over-thinking this. I am basically going to be grabbing my cock and tugging it till I come – there is not much to it.'

'Okay, okay.' She realised she was kind of killing the mood. 'On with the show then.'

She bit her lower lip and started over, gliding her hands down her throat with a feathery touch and inhaling deeply as she passed her fingertips over her breasts. She grasped one in each hand and then pulled her hands away, trailing her fingers to the points to pinch lightly at the pink nipples. That felt so nice she did it again, arching her back. She felt Vegeta's massive outlet of breath, and the hand she lay in rocked as he shifted his weight. She guessed that he was making moves to carry out his part of the plan, but she didn't dare peek and break the illusion that the dark angel version of Vegeta hovered over her rather than the unspeakable beastly one.

After playing with her ta-tas for a while she moved one hand timidly between her legs. To her chagrin her knees stayed firmly clamped shut as her fingers slipped out of sight.

'Open your legs,' Vegeta rumbled.

'I can't…' Bulma realised she was lying as she obeyed him. She had been so happy to watch  _him_  munching her rug earlier – how could she possibly be too innocent for this act? She was just being coy, and the twitch of shame at laying herself open to inspection was lost in the gush of slipperiness at the wantonness of it all.

'I want to  _see_  you touch yourself,' he said, the excitement in his voice echoing around her body.

She imagined him again, talking from on high through a microphone, out of sight in a dark theatre while she spread herself for him on stage, and he, helpless to do anything except speak and be aroused.

She ran a circle around her swollen clitoris and then down inside her where her walls seemed to suck greedily at her finger. She sighed and then the hand she lay began to rock gently as its owner used her pleasure to feed his. She slipped in and out in time to the movement, all the embarrassment and distraction beginning to fall away from her mind as she lost herself in the fantasy and the illusion.

'Say something Vegeta,' she said huskily.

'Hurrh!' he managed.

'Please!'

She brought her fingers up to stroke her clitoris again, swirling her slick fingers around and back down to her opening, again and again. Her other hand gripped one tit and teased the nipple for the electric sensation that arced to join the building excitement between her thighs.

'I never…met another woman…in all the universe I wanted to fuck as much as you!' he groaned out, the rocking of his hand growing faster and more violent. 'And I never wanted to fuck you so much as I do now!'

Bulma groaned as the words rolled over her, the vibrations seeming to touch her within and without. 'Oh, fuck me Vegeta,' she said, feeling herself close to climax again.

Suddenly her parted legs were filled with the sensation of something warm and wet, soft, yet hard between them. Her eyes flew open in shock to see the giant muzzle bearing down upon her, Vegeta's tongue joining her hand at its work. For a moment she didn't know whether to scream out or cry out, but when he withdrew his tongue he let out of long, low sound that went on and on, and had her melting even more than his words. He licked her again and as she gave herself over to it, the cry erupted from her as the giant taste buds rasped against her aching flesh, almost pushing her out of his hand with its power. She reached out to grab something, anything to steady herself, and found herself clutching two of his wickledly long teeth. After such a build up, then such a disappointment, and now at last, release at hand, she couldn't stop the desperate sounds she was making as she bucked against his rolling, vibrating tongue. It was…it was…

'Ah! Ah! Ah!' she cried out as wave after wave of her orgasm hit her. Too soon his face and tongue withdrew, and shamelessly she filled herself with her fingers as the pulsing went on and on. Almost outside the realm of her awareness Vegeta's movements became frenzied as he looked down on the prize in his hand, rolling about in the throes of ecstasy. She was savouring this moment, and the fact that a hideous giant monkey had brought her to it was almost completely forgotten. At least until she was shocked to attention by a dousing of warm fluid as if someone had caught her with a garden hose.

Spluttering, she opened her mouth and eyes just in time to receive another shot to the face, and she half rolled, half slid out of Vegeta's hand to the grass.

'Omigod, omigod!' she screamed even as Vegeta was still shuddering and groaning, his enormous furry body hunched over as he came. 'You just coated me head to toe in FUCKING MONKEY JISM!'

He turned his head to her, his expression bleary and distant. But then he began to shake again, snorting with what she suspected was amusement.

'You better not be laughing you jerk! Euw, euw euw!' She tried to squeegie the worst of the viscous stuff off her. 'Is this your idea of a joke huh? Nearly drowning a girl with the money-shot from hell?'

'No, silly woman. I don't even know what a money-shot is.'

'Well good, because I'm not fucking laughing.'

'I didn't think it would go that far. It was not my intention.'

'Well you should have known! You had that monster cock pointed right at me!'

He sat up and regarded her. She had the distinct feeling he was still amused. 'You may be surprised to know that I have never jerked myself off in Oozaru form before. I had no idea how…explosive it would be.'

'Great,' she muttered. 'I need a shower immediately to get this gross stuff off me, but I can't tip-toe through the house dripping monkey spunk all over the carpet!'

'I have noticed, at times, that when confronted with a problem you are inclined to bitch first even when a solution is ready to hand.'

'What's  _that_  supposed to mean?'

She tried to run away as his hand scooped her up again. She found herself rushing through the air, up and then down into the cool water of the swimming pool. Coming up from the unexpected dunking she gasped and screamed, 'Damn you, you great clumsy primate, let go of me!'

He released her and she slithered back into the pool to swim about and clean off. He washed his hand as if the pool was a fingerbowl at a restaurant. When she swam to the side he offered his hand again.

'I've got two legs and I know how to use them' she snapped, but truthfully her anger was already gone. The boneless, peaceful feel following a particularly powerful orgasm was upon her, and she was even inclined to feel fondly towards the furry giant who blocked out the moon and stars behind him.

He sat back in the garden and waited as she made her slow way back from the pool, over the patio and through the rock garden to where he waited on the lawn. She squeezed out her hair and looked up at the odd, red eyes.

'How long till the moon sets do you think?' she asked.

'My estimate is another three hours. You do not have to stay.'

'No, I said I would.' She shivered. 'I wish I had something to dry myself with though. Now that I'm all wet it doesn't seem quite so lovely and warm out here.'

He sighed and lowered his hand to the ground again.

'What?' she asked.

'Trust me,' he said. 'If I have to suffer your company I will not suffer your complaints.'

'Wow, you're such a charmer,' she said as she stepped into his palm once more. 'Did anyone ever tell you that?'

'No, just you. But I have reason to believe you have questionable taste when it comes to men.'

She chuckled as he brought her up to his face. 'Prick.'

He made a cup with both his hands and she sat between them. Then he blew over her; a hot wind that felt similar to how she imagined the dry cycle in a car wash felt like. She stood and turned herself this way and that until she was mostly dry.

'Well this is one to tick off my bucket list,' she said.

'You do talk a lot of nonsense,' he told her.

'Do you mean you've done this before?'

'No. Never.'

Bulma smiled, suddenly glad to hear it. 'What now?'

He lay back on the grass very carefully, checking not to crush anything, and lay Bulma on the centre of his chest. 'Now you sleep.'

'Wait!' she said. 'What if you roll over and crush me to death in your sleep?'

'I will not be sleeping. I would not risk accidentally crushing something of value while I sleep, like the spaceship for instance. Or geniuses with nice tits.'

Bulma humphed, taking the bait. 'Well I guess I should be flattered that I made number  _two_  on your Most Valued Items list.'

'Sleep, woman.'

She nestled into the fur. It was surprisingly soft and nicely heated by the body beneath. When she lay her head down she could feel the slow thump of the big heart underneath.

'I doubt I'll sleep either.'

* * *

She awoke in her bed the next morning feeling good for a few minutes, but not remembering why until she stretched herself out and realised she was not wearing anything under the bedclothes.

As the memories came back in a rush of unbelievable and extraordinarily erotic happenings she asked aloud 'Did that  _really_  happen? Are you sure you didn't dream that all up Bulma?' It was ludicrous enough to be a dream, but then again, she had no memory of getting to bed last night, and she was naked…and her skin smelt like pool chlorine.

'Oh my word!'

In a flurry of excitement she rushed through the shower, shoved on some clothes and stumbled down to the kitchen, thinking to head out to the garden and check for evidence that last night truly happened. Given how late she had awoken she didn't expect to find Vegeta in there, sitting at the table and still going at his massive breakfast. She skidded to a stop in the doorway and he looked up at her with the same expression of quiet panic she felt on her own face. Her mother was at the stove, still frying enough bacon to give the average person a coronary.

Bulma gave an airy and patently fake laugh. 'Good morning Vegeta! It's not like you to be up so late.'

He grunted and looked down at his plate. 'I was…tired.'

She frowned, thinking she was missing something. He seemed his usual gloomy self, but…even gloomier. 'There's no need to be so unhappy about it is there? Anyone would get tired after…'

She noticed the little twitch under his eye, and the little sniffing motion he used to try and stifle the tic, and the way he stared at his plate but had forgotten to actually be eating.

'Bulma, you're up late, too,' said her mother. 'What were you up to last night?'

'Oh, nothing much,' she said lamely, nearly all her attention still on Vegeta's stressing out at the sight of her.

'I thought you were watching monster movies or something. There was certainly a lot of noise last night. It sounded like Godzilla or King Kong.'

'Yeah, that was it,' she said, gliding over to the kettle, but watching Vegeta's rigid back out the corner of her eye.

'Do you want me to cook you some breakfast honey?'

'No thanks, Mom. I can't keep this figure binging on cooked breakfasts every morning like some people.' She sniffed the bacon, realising how hungry she was. 'Hmm. I guess an egg would still be healthy enough though.'

'Sorry dear, no eggs! I already cooked the last of them for Vegeta.'

'Oh. Never mind then.'

Her mother patted the bacon dry on kitchen towels and then piled the lot onto Vegeta's plate. 'There you go, my sweet boy!' She handed off the frying pan to a lingering cleaner bot and took off her apron. 'Right, I'm out to get some flowers for your father's workroom. You know it's not healthy for you and him to be cooped up in the lab all the time. It's good to bring a little bit of the wild into such a cerebral life. Would you like an arrangement for your gravity room Vegeta?'

Vegeta snapped his head up at the older woman. 'What?'

'Some flowers in your spaceship, Vegeta.'

'No!'

'Oh?' she said, and Bulma swooped in to save her mothers hurt feelings.

'The gravity would crush them to pulp in a moment mother. He doesn't need flowers.'

'Oh, of course! What was I thinking?'

She gathered her gardening gloves and secateurs and headed out the back door.

Bulma poured water on her teabag, popped some rounds of toast in the toaster and watched Vegeta unhappily.

Walking in front of him to get the milk from the fridge she paused and leaned across the table towards him. He stopped eating again and looked at her hand.

'So, last night was pretty crazy, huh?' she asked leadingly.

'Yes,' he agreed. He looked up into her eyes for a second and Bulma felt the air pushed from her lungs as a feeling of unsuspected proportions unravelled in her chest and clutched her heart. He dropped his eyes again. 'I wasn't myself last night.'

'Yeah, no kidding? You were a giant Oozaru, if I recall,' she said, grinning and hoping to get an answering smile from him, but she was not that lucky.

'Even before then,' he said. 'It was the full moon's influence.'

Bulma stood straight again and considered the way the feeling that had hold of her seemed to be screaming out in disappointment.

'You know, right at the start I asked you if you were feeling yourself. And you said that you were. You said that the moon was just a  _signal_  for change, that you…had wanted me for months.'

He lifted his head, and from around his waist unwound the brown-furred tail, startling her as he lifted it into the air behind him.

'It was just moon madness. I said and did things I otherwise wouldn't have.'

Here again sat the inscrutable alien that lived at her house. Gone was the man from last night who had outstripped every fantasy she'd had about him, been thrown a curveball and still knocked it out of the park. She walked away before tears could come to her eyes, feeling the loss more than she would have expected.

She put milk in her tea and buttered her toast when it popped back out of the toaster before finally looked back at him,  _picking_  at his food in a very un-Saiyan manner.

'I had fun though,' she said. 'Didn't you?'

He looked over at her, looked her up and down, and the edge of his mouth tried to pull up into a smile. 'Yes,' he admitted, hiding his expression by stuffing a folded pancake into his mouth. Any other person eating in such a manner would risk choking to death, but Bulma was now well used to the way Saiyans glutted themselves. To her eye he was taking it easy. She let herself relax a little.

'You know what I think,' she said slowly. 'I think that the moon didn't make you do and say things you didn't want to do. I think it made you do and say the things you  _always_   _wanted_  to do.'

He slowed his eating and his eyes went wide as she came to place her plate on the table and stand right next to him.

'What do you think of that, Vegeta?'

He looked up at her with another pancake already folded up and shoved half in his face. She smiled at his endearing expression of confusion and discomfort.

At that moment her mother entered through the back door again, a bundle of long stem roses in her gloved hands. She lost no time hurrying them to the sink to begin arranging them into a vase, and was apparently completely oblivious to the moment she had just shattered.

'You know, I think there's been vandals on the compound! There was a pergola and some camellia bushes completely squashed flat!' she said. 'And there's some smell out there…I don't know if it was the vandals or the new fertiliser Mr Pott has been putting on the garden.'

Bulma froze, still staring at Vegeta, and felt her seductive expression crumple into embarrassment. Vegeta's eyebrows shot up his face in alarm, and without warning Bulma snorted with laughter and Vegeta began choking on his pancake.

'Vegeta!' she cried, submerging her amusement under concern for him. He turned red, and her mother came charging over to pound him ineffectually on the back. In due course he coughed up a wodge of half chewed pancake and shooed them away. 'Leave me be, the two of you, fluttering like nervous butterflies about me! I'm hardly going to die by breakfast foods after surviving a lifetime under Frieza!'

'Oh, you gave me quite a turn, dear! If you had choked to death on one of  _my_  pancakes I'd never have forgiven myself.' She turned to Bulma and put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. 'It's  _our_  job to take care of this young man! Imagine Vegeta not making it as far as the android attack because we'd been derelict in our duty to get him there in one piece! Bulma, you must promise me to look out for him when I'm not around.'

'Huh,' said Vegeta disparagingly.

'Mother, don't be so melodramatic. You'll only encourage him.'

'But we  _should_  encourage him! All the time, and in every way!' She let go of her daughter with a sly wink and Bulma coloured up, glad that Vegeta had turned back to his plate.

'What are you doing today, Bulma? Are you going to be helping Vegeta with the gravity doodacky and trainings robots? Or are you going to get up to more monkey business?'

' _What?_ ' Bulma thought she would die on the spot. Vegeta turned right round in his chair and looked like he might be about to bolt.

'Oh, Bulma! I  _saw_  you yesterday pulling those stunts on the hoverbike. Surely you can find something more useful to do with your time?'

Relaxing, though her face was still bright red, Bulma laughed despite herself. 'Vegeta, do you hear that? Shall I help you or shall I get up to more monkey business?'

He gave her a look crafted to make hardened soldiers lose sphincter control. 'This kitchen is too full of nonsense, I'm not sure there is room for a sensible response.'

'That's right, don't be so silly, Bulma!' said her mother, returning to the blooms.

As she picked the last few up her nose wrinkled. 'There it is again. What  _is_  that smell? It's all over the roses. And it's so familiar.' She took another sniff, pulling back swiftly and wiping her nose after accidentally dipping it in the flower. 'Urgh!'

Bulma recoiled, slapping her hands over her mouth as she banged into the kitchen table and almost sat in Vegeta's breakfast. He looked up at her, his face turning red as he began choking and coughing again, until at last they became silent paroxysms of laughter, Bulma joining him with horrified mirth.

'Really!' her mother chastised. 'He chokes and all you can do is laugh!'

'I know, Mom!' she gasped. 'I can't help it! But I think you'd better leave the stinky roses in the rubbish and go wash your face.'

'You could be right.' She chucked the last flowers and walked out with the vase. As soon as she was gone Bulma lost control and fell across the kitchen bench laughing, while Vegeta's laughter became loud chortling and he banged his fist on the table as they let their tension be carried away by the poor woman's misfortune. After a couple of minutes they subsided into giggles and Bulma rubbed her face to try and clear the hysteria from it.

Vegeta shoved in a few last rashers of bacon and then stood, still smiling.

Bulma decided to strike while the iron was kind of warmed up a little, as that was probably the best that could be managed.

'By the way,' she smiled her blush covered by the fact that her face was still red from laughing, 'I wasn't kidding last night when I said we should have another go at it tonight.'

He pressed his lips together cynically. 'You are a foolhardy woman who doesn't know to keep well away from danger.'

'Is that a no?'

He grinned.

'No - it's a warning.'

As he headed out the door with his tail wrapped around his waist once more, her heart sailed with hope. Smiling, she looked down to her toast and saw that somewhere in the commotion Vegeta had left his last fried egg on her plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? All reviews welcome, even if it's just "WTF?"
> 
> If you came from the teaser on fanfiction.net it would be great if you left your review there too.


	2. Wires Crossed Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Well done those of you who optimistically 'followed' this story despite me telling you it was a one shot. You were right - by popular demand it is now a multi chapter pile of silliness! MayMayB posted a music themed challenge a while back on the We're Just Saiyan community, and one of the challenge rules stated that the chosen song could be used for inspiration for a chapter of an in-progress work, and one of the songs lent itself to a continuation of this fic. The next chapter was inspired by the challenge. This is a linking chapter, and owes far more inspiration to late nights at work and the song 'Cheers' by Rihanna.
> 
> I don't think I mentioned this before, but this really ISN'T how I see the 3 year get together going down. For a start I've given Bulma and especially Vegeta slightly different personalities and backstories from what I think actually happened (still in the realm of cannon though) just so I could get the insta-smut to work. Maybe one day I write a real 3 year fic?
> 
> This picks right up, later that same day where we left Midsummer Night's Dream. I'm expecting this to be about 5 chapters eventually. The entirety of this chapter is going up on fanfiction.net too, because there is no lemon. That's right folks, this is a NO LEMON warning! Never fear though, the full version of the next chapter is only going up on AO3, and you know what that means!
> 
> Oh yes, once again I inflicted my story on Adli to beta. Thanks Adli!

Bulma dithered in front of her computer screen, her fingers resting on the keys but not doing anything more than patting them distractedly. She was supposed to be writing the speech for the press junket at next week's Sci-Tech Tomorrow's World Conference, for which Capsule Corp was a major sponsor and exhibitor. She'd never been less inspired by her work in her life.

Finally her fingers started moving.

 _Vegeta,_  she typed. And then  _So hot! So sad. So bad. I want you back between my legs so much!_ And then she groaned, wishing tonight would come faster and she would know if Vegeta was going to take her up on her offer of not. Their exchange in the kitchen this morning had seemed hopeful, but now that a little time passed she was beset by doubt.  _It's a warning_  – what did that mean, really? He said it wasn't a no, but it wasn't a yes either. Was it kind of a no, but with an excuse?

Her father stuck his head in her office door as he passed.

'How's the speech going, Poppet?'

She jumped in surprise and blushed for no good reason. 'Oh, fine!' she lied, hurriedly deleting her confession from the screen.

'Good, good! I have to say, I'm glad it's you and not me this time. I hate making speeches to the press.'

'I know, Daddy,' she said. Truthfully she was not much of a fan of it herself, but it was time that she started taking on more of the role of the public face of Capsule Corporation. He father wasn't talking of retirement yet, but he was getting on a bit. Besides, it was her own invention that was to be the star of the conference this year. She should be centre stage to take the credit. Her domestic-usage miniature fusion drive had the potential to revolutionise the power industry, and she wanted to see the jaws hitting the floor as she showcased the prototype.

After a few more minutes of time wasting she decided that a break might be in order to bring the proper words to mind.  _I'm not going up to stare at Capsule 3_ , she told herself as she made her way up the stairs and out the doors to her and her father's shared private labs. But as she crossed the garden her head turned inevitably to the spaceship parked on the lawn.  _I'm not going to check on Vegeta_ , she told herself firmly.  _That would just be desperate_. But then she caved to her desperation and found herself standing at the steps leading up to the door. A dim red glow lit the small portals, punctuated by the occasional blue-white flash, and the whole contraption shuddered with violent, muffled impacts. He was definitely in there. She could just…go up and knock. Ask him outright.  _Hey, are we hooking up tonight, or what?_  She blushed at the thought. No way was she going to put herself that far out there. She had her pride too!

While she stood there the flashes and the impacts stopped. Did he somehow know she was out here? The ship loomed over her, and she had the sudden and absurd impression that it was watching her, waiting to see what she was about to do.

'Nope,' she said, turning her back and hurrying away. 'The ball is in his court!'

When she stepped into the kitchen she was greeted by the smell of fresh baked cookies. Her mother was making tea while the cleaning bots put away baking ingredients and equipment.

'Oh, for me too, Mom,' said Bulma as her mother poured one cup. Her mother grinned in reply and fetched another teacup from the cupboard.

'Oh, look here, Bulma' she said, moving aside to reveal the wire rack of cooling cookies behind her on the bench. 'Peanut butter and chocolate chip!' Bulma's mouth watered. 'Do you think Vegeta would like some?' her mother asked.

'I'm sure he'd eat the whole tray if you let him.'

'Oh, do you think so?' her mother cooed with delight, clasping her hands below her chin. 'I'll take them over as soon as I've finished my tea!'

'Hey, no!' protested Bulma. 'At least leave me  _one_  cookie!'

'Oh, my dear, I can always make some more.'

'No dice, Mom,' she said, and reached around her mother to swipe one.

The blonde clucked in disapproval but let her take it. 'Youngsters and their appetites!' she said. 'But I guess you're still a growing girl.'

Bulma goggled at her mother, half the buttery goodness already in her mouth. 'I'm thirty one years old!' she said through the chewy mass.

'Really? That can't possibly be right! That would make me…well, I'm not sure, but I don't feel that old!'

Bulma rolled her eyes.

'Well, in that case, you really should get on to giving me some grandchildren! Tick tock, Bulma!'

'Oh yeah,' said Bulma. 'I'll get right on it with my imaginary husband.'

'You're just being lazy! When was the last time you actually talked to a man? And your father doesn't count.'

Bulma thought back, not quite believing she was entertaining her mad mother, but then realising that actually she could get a point over on her. 'Last night!' she said triumphantly.

'Oh, really? Who?' said Mrs Briefs gleefully, passing Bulma her tea.

'Vegeta,' she replied, and immediately regretted bringing it up. Her mother's reaction was instant and predictable.

'Oh, yes! Of course! Make me some grandchildren with Vegeta!'

'As if, Mother!' she cried, but even so, her mind supplied her with an image of Vegeta sitting at the kitchen table, a drooling baby in one arm and a toddler-aged girl in his lap and a young boy tugging at his hair.

'Get these things off of me!' snarled the stony-faced, imaginary Vegeta.

'Then why even mention it, Bulma?' said her mother, disappointed. 'Oh, he's such a catch - you could do a lot worse! You should make the effort at least.'

'And how should I do that, Mom?' she asked, and then clamped her mouth shut, realising she'd already said too much.

'I don't know. Slip him a little love note under the door? That's how I got your father's attention! Although I did put it under the wrong door; I was actually aiming for the football star staying in the next room down at the Ascot Hotel.' She waved her hand dismissively. 'All's well that end's well.'

Bulma watched her mother piling the cookies onto a plate. It actually wasn't a bad idea. Not a love note, but just a little something suggestive…She was just so longing for some reassurance that last night wasn't some fluke.

'Did you say that you were taking that plate out to Vegeta?'

'That's right; in just a minute.'

Bulma disappeared out of the kitchen and headed for the small "study" that was her mother's. She rooted around in the beflowered and teddy-bear decorated miniature greeting cards in the top drawer of the desk that her mother always kept a supply of, looking for one that wouldn't make Vegeta vomit at its sweetness. She picked one that was black with some line art of an orchid etched in gold on the front and then sat down to write, suddenly as lost for words as she had been over her speech.

Tapping the pen against her teeth she settled on this:

_I really enjoyed last night._

_Are you up for trying it again tonight?_

_Let me know ;)_

Oh, she shook her head. It was lame. But then again, Vegeta himself was no fine orator. She palmed the card and went back to the kitchen, then slid the card under the cookies on the plate while her mother wasn't looking. She didn't want her mother to think she was following her advice. It would only cause undue excitement.

She decided to go tackle her speech again. Maybe something lame would do for that also? It probably didn't have to be the best thing she'd ever crafted – people always told her she was brilliant no matter how little effort she put in.

Mrs Briefs watched her daughter head out the back door, her head in the clouds again. Oh, it was almost painful to watch the girl waste her life on technology and space travel and dragonballs when there was a whole world of men out there she could be making house with! Well, Vegeta would be perfect for the role. Not only highly conveniently situated, but also smoulderingly sexy and entirely noble, with an enviable work ethic and a personality that didn't ask for a lot to keep content. She sighed. Was it too much to ask for that her own husband would drop dead of a coronary so that she could have a crack at the prince herself? Well, probably. But she shouldn't complain. Her husband indulged her in almost every whim, was extremely inventive in the bedroom, and best of all, kept out of her hair the rest of the time. She pulled one cookie back off Vegeta's plate and put it on a side dish. She'd take it down to the lab later. Her husband was worth at least one cookie.

Thinking of inventiveness in the bedroom, she was still a little grumpy at him right now. Last night he'd presented her with an elaborate new toy, which she felt pushed the boundaries of comfort and safety. She was still sore this morning, and was moving a little slower than normal as she started a new batch of cookies. Walnut and maple this time, just in case more were needed.

She was surprised when her husband showed up at the back door.

'Oh! What are you doing in the house?'

'I don't have much to do today,' he said, rubbing one finger under his moustache. 'I thought I might go check in on the gravity simulator. It must be due a maintenance about now.'

Mrs Briefs suddenly realised that she still had not taken Vegeta his cookies yet, and here she was creaming butter and sugar for a new batch already!

'If you're going that way, could you please take those cookies out to Vegeta? I'm sure he might be peckish, and you know he'll never take a break unless he's forced.'

'Of course.' He picked up the plate and turned back to the door.

'Oh!' she added. 'And I've a little something for you, too, when you get back!'

Dr Briefs pondered this last, hoping it was a treat and not some batty nonsense she had for him, but then his eye caught the corner of black card sticking out from under the cookies. Somehow one of his wife's little cards had ended up on the plate, and knowing her, she would probably have no idea where it had ended up. He rescued it, remembering the dirty little notes she sometimes left for him, though there hadn't been one for a while, and he grinned as he opened it and read the words within.

_I really enjoyed last night._

_Are you up for trying it again tonight?_

_Let me know ;)_

Well, he'd be damned! He hadn't thought she'd enjoyed the Ultimate Sexinator that much, but he was ecstatic to imagine having another go again tonight! He turned back to her, and kissed her surprised face then gave her a squeeze on the bottom before pressing the card into her hand. With a spring in his step he took off out the door with more speed than he'd shown for years.

Mrs Briefs rubbed her backside where he'd squeezed one of her bruises and wondered what had got into him, and then she looked down at the note.

'Huh,' she said as she read it. 'The old goat.'

She whisked a pen out of her apron pocket and wrote a snappish reply underneath.

Then she placed the note under the edge of the cookie she'd saved for him. Perhaps he didn't deserve it after all.

* * *

Vegeta was doing push ups, trying out the new, higher levels of gravity. He was at 350 times Earth's gravity now, and it was taking some time to get used to. He'd given up doing anything complicated after the woman had lingered outside the door of the capsule. He'd sensed her chi and both hoped and feared that she'd come to finish what they'd started last night. He'd felt so weak kneed at the thought of kissing her again, clear headed and in the middle of the day, that he'd crumpled to the floor of the chamber, but she'd drifted away again without interrupting him. At first he was relieved. Then he was worried. And now he was also really, really horny.

The smell of her lingered in here strongly. In the shorts that lay flattened in the corner, and the strapless top thing that lay where it had fallen, right in the middle of his work out area. He could have moved them, put them outside the capsule, but he didn't really want to. The scent that coiled off them was like sweet torture that he submitted to willingly; a constant, arousing reminder of what had happened last night. The memories were hazy, and they had a syrupy quality to them, but he remembered. He could hardly believe what he'd done under the moon's influence. He'd been out of control. Vegeta uninhibited. Vegeta unplugged. And lucky for him it seemed to have paid off, because if it hadn't he was sure he'd have Kakarott here to murder him already, and that was one fight he was not ready for.

The problem was that now that the moon had gone away he was  _not_  Vegeta unplugged. But he still wanted her. And he still wasn't sure it was a good idea.

'Bulma,' he said, trying out her name as he pushed up from the ground. Her red top lay before him filling his nose with ever more promise of pleasure every time he lowered himself to the tiles. Another repetition had him groaning with strain and want. Fuck, he had a raging hard on...how was he supposed to train effectively like this? If he diverted any more blood away from his head under these g-forces, he was going to black out! Gods, he was going to have to take himself off to the bathroom again soon to sort himself out.

He pushed up again and again, grunting with exertion, trying to put her out of his mind by renewed effort, but he only served to remind himself of the act of sex more. He had a sudden vision of her beneath him on the tiles, her legs spread wide to capture him, her lips plump and red with desire. His arms gave way, and the gravity yanked his body to the floor, crushing his cock. He yelled in pain and rolled to his side, clutching the unfortunate and rapidly softening appendage. Well, that was one way to solve a problem.

He was distracted enough by the pain that when the buzzer for the door rang he hadn't even noticed anyone coming. He dragged himself over to the control panel, hoping it was the woman, but then sensing it was her father. He turned the gravity off and sighed with disappointment as he made his way to the door. Belatedly he realised that the visit from the father might be due to Bulma anyway. Who knew what kind of courtship ritual he'd triggered here? Suddenly his stomach clenched with anxiety and he felt more lost than ever before. He'd just wanted to get laid by the blue-haired girl! What had he done? What had he started?

'What?' He answered the door, even more sharply than he might have normally.

The doctor was unperturbed as usual. Nothing seemed to get to him, which was probably a good thing, considering the nightmare he was mated to.

'Bunny wanted me to bring over these for you,' he said, holding out a plate of the sweet, browned disks of meal they called cookies.

'Good,' he said, taking the plate.

The doctor took a step into the room while Vegeta was distracted by the offering. Vegeta bristled at the invasion, but held his tongue. Though he felt quite strongly that the capsule was his, he supposed that technically the other man had some claim to ownership of it too, having built it and paid for it.

'And I wanted to do a brief maintenance while you're taking a break,' he said.

'No need,' said Vegeta. 'Your daughter was in here last night and performed one.'

Dr Briefs looked around the room, and too late Vegeta realised Bulma's belongings were in plain view.

'It looks as if she didn't finish!' he said, nodding towards the open console panel. 'Left her toolbag here, even.'

'She got…distracted.'

'Oh? Did she?' he chuckled. 'A chip off the old block! Well, I'd better close that up at least.' He wandered in, picked up the screwdriver and closed the access panel and didn't seem to notice the red top at all. Vegeta inserted one cookie into his face and then another, and was munching his third by the time the old man lifted Bulma's toolbag. The doctor looked around, no doubt looking for cracks and damage to the ship, and his eyes stopped at the shorts in the corner.

'Those look like Bulma's shorts!' he said.

'They're mine,' lied Vegeta, quickly.

The doctor opened his mouth and then shrugged. 'I guess you'd know.' Then he started, looking at something about the level of Vegeta's knees.

'Did you always have a tail?' he asked with surprise.

Vegeta wondered what would happen if he said yes, so he did. 'Yes.'

The doctor's eyebrows rose further up his face. 'Oh. Guess I missed that one.'

He turned and left, leaving Vegeta wondering how the spaceship and gravity simulator had ever come to be built.

* * *

_Vegeta has a tail?_  Dr Briefs thought to himself as he crossed the lawn. He hadn't thought so, but it sparked a memory. By the time he was halfway across the lawn he'd convinced himself that actually he had seen the tail several times before in the past. He stopped dead in front of a crumpled mass of wooden beams and batons and squashed wisteria that he was more accustomed to walk under. Was this the broken pergola his wife had mentioned? He had not wanted to tell her that he had no idea what a pergola was. It did look very broken. He took a detour around it, paying attention to what was before his eyes for once, which was how he noticed the scrap of black cloth on the lawn. Wondering if it was a clue to how the pergola got flattened he bent to pick it up by the corner. It was a pair of lacy black panties.

'I bet those aren't Vegeta's,' he said aloud.

He wondered how on Earth they go there. Had Bunny dropped them? He imagined her out here, seeing her precious pergola crushed to smithereens. Had she been so surprised that her knickers just…fell off? Was that possible? He supposed it must be, or where else would the phrase 'keep your panties on' have come from? He tested the elasticity of the waist. Obviously it was deficient. Well, he could do something about that! He'd been wondering what he could do for her for their anniversary.

Lost in speculation he absently pocketed the underwear and wandered back to the lab, forgetting all about the treat waiting for him in the kitchen.

* * *

Vegeta entered the house hoping the humans were sitting down for dinner. They weren't. Although he had a permanent invitation to join them for evening meals he had only attended once before on purpose, and a couple of times by accident. He infinitely preferred dining in the dark of the night on the huge amount of leftovers the blonde woman put aside for him after everyone else was doing other things or asleep already. Nothing made him feel more like he was a stranger in a stranger land than facing the culture shock of dinner with the Briefs. However, he was willing to endure it today in the hopes of seeing  _Bulma_ and maybe figuring out if anything at all was going to happen tonight.

The blonde woman entered the kitchen from the hall at the same moment he came in from the garden, and Vegeta tensed as if for a stand off. The blonde however, smiled and glided towards him.

'Is everything all right, Vegeta dear?'

'Yes.' He took evasive action, side stepping her and heading for the cupboard under the pretext of taking down a glass. She swung around, her hand coming to her hip as she cocked her head at him. She advanced again, but he was ready, and as she came close he crossed the kitchen to the water cooler to fill his glass.

She pirouetted on the spot to follow him with her eyes, which were still closed into tiny slits of happiness. 'Are you hungry, dear?'

He shrugged.

'I bet you are,' she said. 'I bet you're  _famished_.'

He shuddered. 'I wondered if dinner was ready.'

'Oh! You'll join us at last!' she cooed. 'I was just about to start. In the meantime, why don't you eat my husband's cookie? I'm not sure he deserves it as much as you do.'

Vegeta looked around, hoping to see a cookie, because the suggestive tone she was using was making him sweat in fear.

'Here. Such an active man as yourself won't spoil his appetite before dinner,' she said, holding out a plate. He took the cookie and fled. He was not going back in until he was sure the blue haired one and her father were present. It was just too dangerous.

Behind him Bunny picked the little card off the plate and propped it on the bench to give to her husband later. She watched the Saiyan's retreating backside; such a tight bundle of eye candy wrapped up in spandex like that. She sighed and considered the options for dinner. She'd just decided on a Mediterranean feast when her daughter burst in.

'Vegeta is coming to dinner!' she announced straight away, thrilled to deliver such news.

Bulma's face was the picture of surprise. 'He is? When did he say that?'

'He was just here.'

Bulma blushed. 'Did he leave anything for me by any chance?'

The blonde was puzzled. 'I don't know. I don't think so. He just said he was coming to dinner, took a glass of water and a cookie and left.'

'Oh.'

Mrs Briefs looked at her daughter's fallen face. 'Don't be too disappointed, love. Keep that smile up and I'm sure he'll have something for you soon!' Then she turned to pull out her favourite Italian cookbook from the cupboard above the oven.

'I'm not disappointed,' scoffed Bulma, watching her mother's back.  _How transparent am I_ , she wondered,  _to have been rumbled so quickly about my interest in Vegeta by Mom of all people?_  Then she noticed the little black card propped up on the bench and her heart contracted in a massive beat that made her head feel like it would explode. She hoped neither of her parents had read it - what a dead giveaway that would be! Hurriedly she swiped the card and rushed out the kitchen to the lounge with her prize. Had he answered it? What was his answer? Oh, would they meet in his room? Hers? Or would he suggest a date? Perhaps another garden tryst?

Under her playful invitation was written:

_I know you enjoyed it – you made it quite clear at the time._

_I think you're really pushing your luck_

_if you think that it's going to happen again any time soon._

_I remain unconvinced._

_And what's with the card?_

_Did you think it would seem more romantic put this way?_

What

The

Hell?

Bulma stared at the words, reading them twice to be sure she was getting this right. Everything had just slammed into reverse.

This was the rudest and most stunning brush off she'd ever gotten! She turned red and actually trembled with the depth of humiliation she felt at that moment.  _Pushing her luck? Did I think it would be more romantic written in a card?_  He wrote like her suggestion was some sordid booty call that he'd turned down out of disinterest and superior principles! Well, actually it  _was_  a booty call, because there was NO WAY she could be seriously interested in such an arrogant tosser! No one turned down Bulma Briefs's booty!

'FUCK YOU, BUDDY!' she screamed to the empty room. 'This is WAR!'

Boiling anger seethed over, and it lasted precisely five seconds before she spied Vegeta outside in the garden. He was looking right at her and walking towards the ranch slider.

'No!' she whimpered, all her anger turning right back into mortification again. 'Not yet! I can't face him yet!'

She turned tail and ran out into the hall, grabbed her keys and a capsule car off the sideboard and legged it out the front door.

Baffled by this sudden disappearing act, Vegeta stood outside the ranch slider, sensing the Woman's rapidly receding chi take off down the driveway.

He sighed. 'I don't know why I expect her to be any more sane than her parents.'

* * *

Bulma took the convertible out into the city, driving aimlessly and recklessly. She almost ran a red light and slammed on the brakes, ending up with the nose of the car sticking out awkwardly into traffic.

'That bastard! That bastard!' she screeched loudly, to the consternation of passing pedestrians. What the hell had last night been, then? Had he been absolutely serious when he said it was just moon madness? And what was 'I remain unconvinced' supposed to mean? Because surely it didn't mean he'd been unimpressed with her during their encounter? No one dared to be unimpressed with her!

But somewhere near the edge of town, where the high rises feathered into industrial parks and wholesale retailers, her fury died down.

Damn it, she'd totally bought the line that he'd wanted her for months, because she had wanted him too! She ran the night before through her mind again, seeing it through a veil of doubt. It had been so good…one of the best nights of her life. She'd been so ready for him to touch her he'd set her libido on fire when he did. She'd felt like the most gorgeous woman in the galaxy when he'd smirked at her naked body. Was it possible that her own happiness had blinded her to his ambivalence?

Tears welled up and blurred her vision, and she pulled over outside a car wrecker's yard before she crashed. She sniffed and then cried harder as she thought that it wouldn't be so bad if she hadn't spent all this morning and half the afternoon either imagining their next encounter or daydreaming about Vegeta and the Z-Fighters fighting the androids. In her daydream it came down to Goku and Vegeta, both Super Saiyans, fighting the metal hellions one on one, until Vegeta defeated his and Goku fell, wounded. Vegeta would step in at the last moment and save Goku, and then afterwards they would clasp hands.

'We did it,' Vegeta would say. 'Together.'

'We never would have succeeded without you, my friend,' Goku would say. 'I was right about you, Vegeta. There is good in your heart. You turned yourself around.'

Then Vegeta would turn to look at her as he told Goku, 'I did it…for the love of a good woman.'

And then she would run to him and throw her arms around him and he would lift her into the sky, kissing her and telling her, 'Woman, I know I haven't told you yet, because I find it hard to say, but…I love you. Will you marry me?'

'Yes! Yes! Oh, Vegeta, make love to me!'

And then they would tear the clothes off each other, devouring one another in a fit of screaming, groaning passion…

Oh god, she  _didn't_  imagine that! She erupted into bubbling, pitiful sobs and beat a fist against the steering wheel. What a moron she was! She should have her head examined!

After a little while the tears died down and she contemplated her next move. Glancing in the rear-view mirror she caught sight of a blue haired scarecrow with pink, weepy eyes. She couldn't go home looking like this. Actually, she didn't want to go home at all, not if Vegeta was coming to dinner. Why would he come to dinner today of all days? It was like he was going out of his way to make her uncomfortable. She wouldn't stand for that! Well, maybe for tonight she would, but eventually she would not stand for it!

She decided to go to her other office at HQ to regroup and sort out her hair situation. And so she ended up nearly back where she started from, in the main building on the opposite side of the huge Capsule Corp compound from the house.

She'd just made her way into the lobby against the flow of employees knocking off for the day, when a fashionably dressed young woman stopped right in front of her. It was Perspectiva Monroe from the design team.

'That was quick!' she exclaimed.

'What are you talking about?' Bulma asked.

'We only sent you the message about three minutes ago!' she said, and then frowned while Bulma self-consciously dragged her hands through the windblown hair and wiped the tear tracks from her face. 'You didn't get the message, did you?' she asked.

'Nope.'

'Uh-oh.'

'Uh-oh?'

'It's about the prototype of the fusion drive. You'd better come with me.'

In the engineering dept an air of panic reigned.

'Ms Briefs! Thank god you're here!' cried Miriam Quark, a dumpy middle aged woman with mousy grey hair, and one of Capsule Corporation's best plasma engineers. A mixed flock of engineers, technical drawers, designers and scientists crowded around long table strewn with a partially assembled fusion drive and a mess of blueprints. Though some looked relieved to see her, just as many looked dismayed.

'What's the problem here?' she asked, a bad feeling coiling in her stomach to mingle with her disappointment over Vegeta.

Nervous faces glanced back and forth at each other before Randy Beauchamp, the engineer who was in charge of the prototype build, spoke up.

'We can't get the drive to run according to the blueprints we have. Even if we did, we wouldn't, because according to our calculations, we'd blow up half of West City.'

'WHAT?'

* * *

Vegeta conceded that the blonde woman had out done herself. The spread on the table had his mouth watering, and it looked far more appetising still hot rather than covered in plastic wrap or in Tupperware with reheating instructions taped to the top of them. He never let on, but if the reheating instructions were more complicated than 'place this in the microwave on high for 2 minutes' he just ate it cold. Tonight there were lumps of flavoured meat things in a red, savoury sauce, squares of bland, rubbery looking material stuffed with squishy paste that he knew from experience were more appetizing then they looked, braised cuts of various animals, green goop, bread, collections of vegetables of various colours, some salad, cheese and a cake. Still, something very important was missing.

'Where is your daughter?' he asked the two old ones.

'Oh, I don't know!' said the mother. 'She gets so caught up in things at times. I bet she's just in the lab playing with wires and whatnot.'

'She wasn't in the lab when I left,' said the doctor.

'Maybe she's in her room then? I'll just use the house intercom to call her down.'

Vegeta's mood lowered. 'She's not in the house,' he told them.

'But how can you tell?' asked the nightmare woman.

'I just can,' he told her.

'Well, let's not let dinner get cold waiting for her,' said the doctor.

'No!' said the woman. 'I told her Vegeta was coming to dinner, and I am sure she wouldn't miss it – we should all have dinner as a family for once! Call her cellphone, Trunks.'

The old man blinked at this unusually insistent request from his wife. 'Okay, my dear.'

Vegeta blinked too. The woman really was mad. Did she really just include him under the umbrella of her 'family'?

The doctor's phone rang a while before Bulma picked up.

'Pumpkin, we're all sitting round the dinner table wondering if you're coming to join us,' her father told her.

Vegeta could pick up the words 'work', 'rabble of cretins', and 'sort this shit out' buzzing from the phone as the old man began to look a little concerned.

'Okay, Bulma. Well, I hope you don't stay too late,' he said eventually and hung up.

Vegeta felt a sudden weight fall into his stomach.

'There's some trouble with the prototype they're building for the conference,' the old man told them. 'She has to work late to sort it out.'

'No!' protested the woman again. 'Why would she put work ahead of dinner with us, and, and  _Vegeta_?'

Vegeta knew exactly why she would. He'd seen the panic on her face when she'd looked out the window and saw him in the garden – now it made sense. She was avoiding him. She had thought better of her offer, and it was withdrawn.

'Hmm,' he said, looking across all the food and the unhappy faces of the other two. The last thing he wanted right now was to sit through an evening of their company for no reason, and he suddenly found he'd lost his appetite. He stood up.

'I've decided to return to my training,' he announced.

'Right this minute?' gasped the blonde.

'Yes.' He knew how it would look, but he felt a desperate need to be alone right now.

The woman's moan of disappointment followed him out of the door.

'Ohhh! Fiddlesticks!'

* * *

It took all night to find all the faults in the plans for the fusion drive. Bulma had started out with a firm belief that it couldn't possibly have been she that caused them, especially after the first mistake was found in the technical drawings. However, the problems didn't end there. They team moved backwards and forwards between the notes and original drawings that Bulma had made when she created the first two experimental drives, the drawings from the design team, and the blueprints from the engineering department and subsequent revisions.

'Another transcription error!' Bulma said, pointing at the measurement on the page. 'Dammit! Was the CAD artist on crack?' She swept her eyes amongst the team, wondering if the artist was here, and half hoping he was so that she could publicly tear a strip off him. She was angry and she was hurt and she was Bulma Briefs, and by golly, someone was going to pay!

'He's on bereavement leave,' said Randy quietly. 'His wife died last week. After a long illness.'

Bulma instantly felt like a bitch. 'Oh. Sorry about that. Well, Miriam is entirely right, the housing won't be strong enough because this depth is supposed to be 86 millimetres, not 68 millimetres.'

A gasp of relief was let out from the throng.

'Well, it looks like the designers can go home,' she said. 'But we need to get this housing retooled. Is there anyone in the workshop right now?'

'No, Miss Briefs,' said Jono Crank, a thin ginger-haired man with a long history in the engineering department at Capsule Corporation. 'It's after midnight.'

'Oh. So it is. Well, first thing in the morning then! Someone send emails, leave voice messages - whatever. We need this housing redone, asap. Make it so!'

People ran around, doing her bidding. Coffee was made and pizza ordered for 'second dinner' as Bulma sank her teeth into the more perplexing problem of why it didn't work. She knew it  _could_  work – she'd made two herself! But why didn't this one? She made the discovery that the engineering team didn't completely understand the concepts behind the fuel injector, so of course they were missing the mark on that one, but there was more to it than just that. At four o'clock in the morning she came to the glum conclusion that she herself had made errors in the drawings and notes she had handed off.

'Oh, boy,' she said to Miriam and Randy, who were the only two others left. Everyone else had been sent home already. 'This is embarrassing.'

'I think we've all been left with egg on our faces tonight,' said Randy, considerably more cheerful now than when the engineering dept's errors were pointed out.

Bulma slumped until her forehead bumped on the desktop. Her own project. Her own invention. All of this should have been caught weeks ago, and now there was only three days left until the convention opening. She'd taken her eye off the ball. She'd merrily left the dull task of overseeing the prototype build to underlings when a deadline was looming, and that was no one's fault but hers. Her and her father would be the only ones wearing egg on their faces if the curtain lifted on the conference without a headlining Capsule Corporation invention to exhibit. She was such an idiot.

Her heart gave a squirm as if to remind her of all the other embarrassment waiting for her at home.

 _Such_  an idiot!

'I'll be back in the morning,' she croaked. 'Let's get a couple of hours sleep at least.'

* * *

Mrs Briefs wore a frown for the next three days. It was so unlike her that Dr Briefs became worried. When they went to bed after the aborted family meal she'd been so distraught that he hadn't the heart to bring up the Ultimate Sexinator, figuring she would no longer be in the mood. She clearly wasn't, and was still sighing through breakfast the next morning.

'Bulma ran off to work so early this morning that she almost caught Vegeta in the kitchen,' she said at dinner time. 'Of course she  _didn't_ , because just before she made it down the stairs he ran out the door as if his tail was on fire.'

It was just the two of them. Bulma hadn't come home from HQ all day. Vegeta had been in Capsule 3 all day without a break, and if he were back to his old routine, he wouldn't be out until long after dark.

'Did Vegeta always have a tail?' she asked.

'Yes, dear. I'm surprised you didn't notice.'

Her frown deepened. 'I wonder if his children would have little tails, too?' Suddenly her eyes were rimmed with tears. 'I guess now we'll never know!'

'What are you talking about?' Dr Briefs asked, distressed by his wife attitude.

'Our daughter is making a mess of things!' she told him. 'She might be quite clever, but she's made a big mistake!'

'Well, she made some mistakes all right, my dear,' he told her, thinking of what Bulma had told him over the phone that afternoon, although he wasn't sure what that had to do with tails, 'but she's working on it, is what she told me. She'll figure it out, don't you worry.'

'You think so? Oh, I'm so relieved!'

But the next day she observed the two young people stubbornly stay out of the house and purposely avoid each other, and then next day too, and she took to sighing again.

'I'll never have grandchildren at this rate,' she told the cleaning bot as she prepped for dinner. 'I should have had more children!'

* * *

Mad, mad work. Team work and adrenalin were two things Bulma was quite associated with, but not in the context of her Capsule Corporation work. After two days of rushing back and forth between the workshop and the engineering lab she found she had grown quite fond of the team around her. The end was looming closer, one way or another, as they all marched doggedly together toward victory as they faced down defeat.

Each mistake Bulma found in her work promised to be the last of her problems, but each triumph proved to be a false ridge – another problem remained to be surmounted on the other side. She brought her first experiments in and deconstructed them, then redocumented them from the ground up, uncovering the inconsistencies as she went. It was getting hard to think straight through all this stress and exhaustion, but Randy and the team remained optimistic and encouraging.

'I don't understand how I can have handed off my work with mistakes like this!' she had complained to him.

'I'm just glad you're here,' Randy told her. 'We would never have figured this out ourselves. Or it would have taken us months at least.'

It was 2 am and they had just watched the last of the others leave for the night, and she and Randy were packing up, getting ready to go home themselves, sitting side by side at the oversized drawing desk

'It's my fault,' she admitted. 'I should have been more involved in the process and the problems would have been caught sooner. I haven't been very attentive to my work at the company lately.' She held her head in her hands as she tried not to think of the things that had her distracted.

'Well, assuming that one you just caught was the last error…we've got at least…thirty hours to build the prototype before the exhibition hall opens!' he said, laughing.

'Brilliant. The crew will be so happy,' she said sarcastically. 'I feel terrible that everyone was here so late three nights in a row because of me,' she told him.

'Don't feel  _too_  bad for us,' said Randy, grinning. 'We're all on double pay right now!'

Bulma made a mental note to see that the whole team got an extra large bonus this Christmas. 'Still, money is only money. I'm taking you away from your families.'

'That may be so for some of them. I'm a bachelor though,' he said leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head to grin slyly at her. 'No one waiting at home for me! I'd still be here, even without the double pay. I'm just glad that I'm getting to work so closely with the most brilliant and beautiful engineer on the planet.'

Bulma snorted. She'd heard it all before. Of course it was  _true_. 'Flattering the boss – smooth move.'

'Who said I was talking about you? I was talking about Miriam Quark!'

Bulma laughed, finding the joke outrageously funny after so much missed sleep. 'Randy Beauchamp; bachelor, engineer, comedian!' she teased. Randy stood up and took a bow, his wavy, dark brown hair falling in front of his eyes. His eyes were dark brown too, though not the nearly coal black of Vegeta's, she thought, grimacing as the comparison arose from nowhere. When he wasn't stressed out of his nut, Randy's face seemed to be perpetually smiling. She could see why his team liked him. It probably didn't hurt that he was pretty darn good looking either. 'I gotta get to bed,' she sighed.

'Me too. I'll walk you out.'

Up in the dark lobby they said goodnight to the security guard, Toto, as he passed on his way to the bathroom. Bulma shook her head. Learning the names of security guards – it was a brave new world for her, here, on the business end of Capsule Corp. At the front doors Bulma hefted the binder of printouts and rolled up blueprints into one arm to press the button to open them, but as she stepped out, one of the blueprints fell from her arm and bounced on the ground. Without thinking it through, she bent over to pick it up and spilt the rest of them. 'No!' she said, dropping the folder to grab the blueprints before the doors crushed them. Instead the doors closed on her butt. 'Ow!'

'What are you doing?' cried Randy behind her. He pressed the button again and the doors released her, then he rushed to help her pick up the blueprints, already starting to laugh.

Bulma stood, half the rolls in one arm, and rubbed her hip. 'That hurt you know!' she protested.

He laughed harder. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'But it was quite a sight.'

Bulma blushed and began laughing too, out of sheer embarrassment.

'I'm sorry if you got hurt,' he said more earnestly, pressing the blueprints into her arms and putting his hands on her shoulders.

'Don't worry, it was mostly my pride,' she said. 'Seems to be a theme lately.'

'Bulma,' he said. 'When your invention is the toast of the town, no one's going to know or care that a few errors were made in the prototype stage! We're going to get through this, don't worry!'

Yes, she could definitely see why he was so liked. She felt better already. And then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

Bulma froze, not quite believing it was happening until it was over. What the fuck? Did one of her employees really just make a pass at her?

'Erm,' he said. 'I can see that went down about as well as a cup of cold sick.'

Bulma looked away across the car park, not sure which emotion to let loose on. Embarrassment? Anger? Despair, because this was the wrong set of lips?

'I'm…I'm just going to go home now,' he said.

'See you in the morning,' she said automatically.

'Yeah.'

She walked stiffly to her hoverbike and packed the binders and blueprints into the saddlebags for the short trip across the compound. As she took off and left the warm, sodium glow of the parking lot lights, her lips trembled and turned down in unhappiness. She should have told him that she didn't date employees. That wasn't true though. She just hadn't ever  _wanted_  to date an employee before. She didn't want to date Randy either…there was something about the way he was so likeable and easy to get along with that infuriated her right this second. She looked up into the cloudy sky, where the tattered clouds were hiding the moon, all rimmed by its light, but not letting it be seen.

'Vegeta!' she moaned, her lip trembling some more as tears leaked from her eyes. 'You're such a bastard!'

She flew straight over Capsule 3, not realising that the Saiyan inside was banging his head against the uncaring ceramic tiles of the floor of the spaceship to feel her so close, yet so far away. 'Fuck!' he cursed to himself. The time he spent here training to beat Kakarott was going to quickly become unbearable if he didn't have his way. She was definitely avoiding him. He didn't like the way this felt at all.

Some part of Vegeta was aware that he had never actually made a decision either way as to whether getting intimate with the blue haired woman was a good idea or not. The rest of him, though, was knotted tight with frustration that this thing he so wanted was denied him.

'No one denies the Prince of All Saiyans!'

* * *

Bulma awoke to her alarm, feeling fuzzy headed from not enough sleep. Spying the time she realised she'd already slept through ten minutes of the blaring noise, and she sat bolt upright, jumping out of bed in a panic, but feeling a little sick from it. It was Friday morning and the conference opened in twenty-six hours. She threw her clothes on and ran to the balcony, to her hoverbike that she'd parked there last night. Screw breakfast this morning – some PA was going to be sent out for coffee and pastries as soon as she made it into the HQ building. Coffee and pastries for all, she'd promised them before they'd left last night. Halfway across the compound the pocket of her denim waistcoat buzzed. She fished her phone out and read the text message.

 _Sorry for last night. I don't know what I was thinking. Must've just been the sleep deprivation. Obviously I would never normally find you attractive_.

Urgh, she'd almost forgotten the embarrassing kiss. The phone buzzed again.

_BTW just joking! Shouldn't do that with the state I'm in. You're very good looking of course._

And a third time.

_Please don't fire me!_

She groaned, halfway between amusement and sadness.

 _I forgive you_  she sent Randy.

 _Phew!_ he replied.

By nine in the morning she seemed to have everything sorted.

'Now we've got to construct the bugger!' she told her team. 'Come on, let's have this done by dinner time and then the drinks are on me!'

This raised a ragged cheer. Bulma rallied them like a field marshal. Sometime around 6pm she had Nicolini's, one of the best trattoria's in town, deliver a banquet for dinner as the detailing was put into the prototype. The team ate with gusto on the long bench of a lab like it was a dining table. Randy kept his distance, but smiled as happily as the rest. At eight o'clock, while the housing was buffed to sparkling perfection, Bulma snuck into the VIP conference room and swiped some bottles of champagne from the fridge. They all toasted their work, and after a couple of glasses, which went straight to Bulma's head, she said, 'Let's all deliver this to the conference centre together! And then hit the town – the drinks are on me! Who's in?'

The giddy gaggle of engineers, designers and workshop technicians piled into a mini van that someone ordered. They laughed and drank all the way downtown like teenagers in a stretch limo going to prom, and then piled out at the front door of the conference centre, disturbing the press in the lobby who were already setting up for the morning. Installing the prototype into the machine that would log its output and demonstrate its effectiveness was the work of minutes and then Bulma was leading her troop out the door again by foot.

'Across the road to Empire!' she commanded. 'Just put it all on my tab, guys!'

She noticed on the way that they'd picked up a few extras from the press section. A couple of freelance photographers, by the looks of it, who weren't above selling candid photos to gossip columns and women's magazines. She decided she didn't care too much, and this was one of the reasons she had picked Empire. It had been established as an exclusive men's club two hundred years ago, and undergone many transformations. Now it was the most exclusive bar and nightclub in West City, and their security knew how to handle the paparazzi when they showed up.

She flashed her ID and her smile at the doormen-come-bouncers who rushed to open the doors for her. 'These people are my friends,' she told them. 'Not the photogs though.'

Inside the Capsule Corp employees looked around in wonder. The lobby bar was an artwork of antique luxury and modern baroque whimsy, with friezes, plaster mouldings and statues picked out by uplights. All the furniture was leather, all the barworkers in tuxedos, and all the clientele rich, even when they were falling down drunk and letting their cocktail dresses ride up to show their underwear. She supposed her engineers looked a little out of place here, but Bulma was rich enough to not care. She herself was only wearing the stretchy purple mini dress, waistcoat and some plain red pumps with two-inch heels she'd thrown on that morning, but no one was going to tell Bulma Briefs she was under-dressed.

She made her way to the bar. 'I'd like to open a tab, please. And I'd like to start by putting…' She did a quick head count. 'Twelve margaritas on it!'

As the drinks lined up along the bar, and Bulma looked at the excited faces of her crew, she made a decision. Tonight she was going to get hideously, recklessly drunk. Screw Tomorrow Bulma. Tomorrow Bulma could deal with the hangover. Tomorrow Bulma could angst about where she woke up in the morning. Or who she woke up next to. Tonight she was giving herself a holiday from Giving a Shit.

She lifted her glass and faced the gang, all of them, even Randy (especially Randy), beaming back at her.

'We did it!' she told them. 'Hurrah for us and cheers to the freaking weekend!'

'Cheers to that!' Miriam cried.

* * *

Vegeta was also not giving a shit. Or so he told himself.

He was dodging the laser beams that the training bots Bulma made were flicking back and forth in a random pattern. The bots also moved constantly, and he never knew if a bolt was coming from behind, above, below or head on. It required speed and concentration to avoid injury, and was the Woman's clever idea to push his limits in the high gravity environment. However, he was getting angrier and angrier at this non-combative routine. Some days nothing but violence would do, but that wasn't an option on this planet. As he was dancing from them, one of the bots backed into the wall at speed and whirled out of formation.

'Stupid Woman's stupid robot!' he grizzled, before remembering he wasn't thinking about her anymore. He had thrown the clothing from the capsule days ago. Later he had burnt it for good measure. That dealt to the scent, but he couldn't easily rid himself of the memory of her rejection. Well, it was better this way anyway! She was avoiding him as much as he was avoiding her, so that was good and he could train uninterrupted, not having to think about the way she was constantly making fun of him, her silky skin, or the taste of her, so wet it ran down his chin…

'No!'

A laser beam hit him in the backside, stinging like fury. In temper he spun and shot the offending bot through the heart with a beam of his own. The next thing Vegeta knew, he was sucked up towards the side of the capsule until he slammed into it and the whole spaceship shuddered. A klaxon sounded and suddenly the ship went dark and Vegeta fell to the floor, revealing the hole he'd made in the side of the ship when he killed the bot. The sudden release of pressure had sucked him up to plug it, but now the gravity was off and the pressure released. The door to the ship opened automatically. A pre-recorded message began blaring from the console.

'This is a pressure breach,' said the voice of the blue haired woman, sending waves of rage rippling out from his gut. 'Do not attempt a reset. Find me or my father immediately. I mean it, Vegeta.'

Vegeta stamped across the lawn, angry enough that he might consider hauling the old man out of bed to fix this, but then he noticed most of the lights in the house were on anyway. As he approached the back door the doctor burst from it and ran to Vegeta.

'You haven't seen Bulma, have you?'

The man's agitation was clear, and Vegeta felt a trickle of alarm. He'd never seen the man so ruffled.

'No.'

'Oh, no!'

'Your inferior piece of technology just failed,' Vegeta told him. 'I need you to begin fixing it immediately.'

The doctor shook his head. 'I'm terribly sorry, Vegeta, but I just don't have time right now. The conference organisers called earlier. Zapp Industries has withdrawn from the conference, and so now the organisers have moved Capsule Corp's presentation from the last day to first thing tomorrow morning, and asked me to do the opening speech! I have no idea what I'm going to say, and Bulma will have to present her fusion drive right after, but I can't find her! I thought she was at HQ, but she's not answering her phone and security says she's not there.'

There was that tingle of alarm again. There was no reason for it though, he decided. The Woman was merely avoiding him, and she successfully left and returned to the compound safely on a regular basis. Not that he cared, anyway. 'That is not my problem,' he said heartlessly, but the old man didn't even acknowledge the rudeness.

'I understand, Vegeta. But this can't be put off. It'll have to wait until after the conference opens. Oh, I  _really_  didn't want to have to make a speech. Maybe if you can find Bulma and she's done with her prototype she might be willing to help you out tonight, but it  _is_  late and she has to be up early tomorrow, too.'

The doctor turned and went back into the house leaving Vegeta to consider his options. Suddenly he very much wanted to know where the Woman was.

'I think I will do that,' he said to the back of the old man as the kitchen door slammed shut.

* * *

'Call me Persy,' said Perspectiva, gripping the shoulder of Bulma's denim waistcoat and pulling her off balance.

'Call me Bulma,' she drawled in return, clutching the side of the table to stop her staggering. 'Just for tonight.'

'Did I tell you, I always looked up you when I was in high school?' asked the younger woman.

Bulma blinked. She didn't realise she was that much older than Perspectiva. 'No.'

'I admire you, Bulma! Especially the way you have such brave fashion sense, even when that hair colour clashes with everything. It's like you just don't care! I wish I could be as laid back and just not care so much about how good or not I look.'

'Thanks, Persy. Wait, what?'

'And the way that you order people around like this bitch sergeant major – I just love to see a woman on top.'

That reminded her of something Yamcha had once said to her that infuriated her –  _Can't you take the pants off for one second?_

'My boyfriend always said I sucked at being a girl,' she admitted to Perspectiva.

'Ooh, that's mean! You're too busy being clever to deal with all that girly nice stuff.'

'That's right!' Bulma said, and then frowned. She thought that she  _did_  deal with girly nice stuff?

'Oh, how is he? The baseballer…mmm…Hotty McHot-pants? Yamcha?'

'Bah!' Bulma exclaimed. 'Don't talk to me about him. It's over!' She slammed a fist down on the table, somehow catching the rim of a wine glass she hadn't noticed, so that it tipped over and smashed on the table, splattering voigner down her arm. She clumsily flicked it off herself, but Perspectiva didn't notice.

'Aw! That's a shame! I always wanted to meet him. Do you think he'd mind if you gave me his number?'

'What's a shame?' said Miriam, tottering up with another bottle of champagne from the bar.

'Bulma and Yamcha split up!' said Perspectiva. 'I feel bad for you, Bulma! And at your age to it must be hard to find yourself suddenly single.'

Bulma ran that one through her mind, which felt about as sharp as Yajarobe's ass at that moment.

'Wait, how old do you think I am?' she asked, realising she should be pissed off.

'Singledom is an opportunity rather than a curse for someone like Miss Briefs,' said Miriam, beginning to pour the champagne into glasses.

'Yeah, what she said!' cried Bulma. 'It's an opportunity!'

Some of the others from the other end of the table crowded round to get their glasses filled. A couple had gone home, and some were already on the dance floor in the main bar. The DJ had started up twenty minutes ago and thumping beats could be felt coming up through the floor. The pulse was already making Bulma sway in time to it, and the cocktails inside her had lowered her resistance to making an ass of herself.

'I bet you have plenty of admirers to choose from,' said Miriam. 'I know of one or two myself.'

'Who?' asked Perpectiva.

'Well, I'm not at liberty to say!' said Miriam, her cheeks flushed from the drinks and the warmth in the bar. 'Miss Briefs might already have someone in mind, anyway.' She looked up and Bulma expectantly, and Bulma squinted at her champagne flute before gulping from it. She decided to say something before Miriam and Perspectiva had her set up on some sort of blind date.

'I do,' she told them.

'Who!?' cried Perspectiva.

'Is it someone from Capsule Corp?' asked Miriam, excitedly.

Bulma's heart fell. It was Vegeta. It was Vegeta she immediately had thought of. Vegeta who didn't want her and had insultingly turned her down, who didn't even care for no-strings-attached sex with her, let alone a relationship.

'I guess you could say that,' she said with a sigh.

'Is it the pool boy?' asked Perspectiva, her mouth popping open with the scandalous thought.

'Pool boy?' parroted Bulma, completely lost.

'I heard there was a hot pool boy that was always walking round your garden with no shirt on,' the girl said. 'Not that I can blame you. I mean, if I was as rich as you are I'd definitely hire a hot pool boy to fool around with.'

'It's not the pool boy! We don't even have a pool boy,' said Bulma, frowning at Perspectiva, who was beginning to bother her. 'We have a robot for that!'

'Well, what's wrong, then?' said Miriam. 'Why'd'ya sound so down in the dumps about it?'

'Urgh,' she groaned. 'It's complicated.'

'How?'

'It's…someone I would probably be wise not to get involved with. There was a bit of a thing…' She waved her hand to vaguely indicate the thing – that being moon-mad sex with a giant ape. 'I had my chance, and I blew it. Now it's never going to happen. I don't think he even likes me now.'

'Oh!' said Perspectiva, getting her cellphone out. 'That's too bad. Can you remember Yamcha's number off the top of your head?'

'I don't think you should write it off just yet,' said a voice from over her shoulder. Bulma turned and staggered, and found herself face to face with Randy, her hands pressed to his chest. She hadn't noticed him there at all.

'And how would you know?' she asked.

'I know some things!' he said. 'Dance?'

Bulma nodded. Yes, she wanted to dance. She wanted to go mad and lose herself in the music and the crowd tonight and see if she could get Vegeta out of her head – again. And if she drank any more she was probably going to pass out.

Randy took her hand and led her between the tables and through the doors into the main dancehall. The room was a hallucinatory mixture of neoclassical interior architecture and space age hedonism. The bar was a fish tank filled with deep ocean specimens and lit with blacklight, strobe lights hung from marble columns, patrons hung from the arches of the gallery, and velvet drapes hung before alcoves concealing private scenes of amour and illegality. The DJ loomed over it all from the mezzanine floor, the dark lord of the writhing mass below. The dance floor was mostly full already, and Bulma closed her eyes and gave over her inhibitions immediately, bouncing and gesticulating wildly to the beat like a woman with a serious neurological disorder. Track after track she danced, her energy levels seeming to get higher and higher with each break of the joyous, infectious music, though she fell off her heels a few times and was saved by Randy who held her up as he danced alongside her. She grinned like a maniac. Her face grew sweaty and sweat trickled down the cleavage of her dress. When she lifted her arms to throw her hands in the air she kind of wished she'd had a shower that morning, but she was having too much fun to let that stop her.

After one particularly blitzing build up, the music collapsed into a celestial breakdown and Bulma stood panting and staring at Randy while she swayed to the ghost of the beat and waited for the next upswing to carry her off. Her head was swimming. She thought she should probably go home soon – tomorrow was already looking like a write off, and it she was unlucky this off-the-hook night would be documented by the press.

'This DJ is SO awesome!' she enthused. As she tilted her head back to look up at him she toppled off her heels again and he caught her by the hands.

'I love a woman who loves to dance,' Randy laughed. To her surprise he took her hands and pulled them up around his neck, and she was suddenly right against him.

 _Oh god, he's going to kiss me again_ , she thought. But then as his lips were descending she remembered her resolution to Not Give a Shit tonight.  _I'm going to just let it happen!_   _After all, it's not like I had anyone better to do tonight_.

But Randy was suddenly torn from her grasp.

Bulma fell to her hands and knees and then paused in the act of getting up, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Randy was hunched over, his shirtfront balled in the fist of a shorter man who was snarling words at him. A man who was-

Vegeta!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I have Chapter 3 already prepared. Should I post it already? I can't hear you!


	3. Rude Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: All right, I haven't let you wait forever! Thank you everyone who reviewed on the last chapter :) I'm glad to have entertained you.
> 
> So, this is the chapter written for the challenge. Its inspiration is 'Rude Boy' by Rihanna. The sentiments expressed in that song would make a feminist cringe, but it kind of works for Bulma when she's drunk.

A sense of great urgency lifted Bulma from the floor, and she floated across the gap between them, tripping at the last and falling forward to catch herself on the bunched muscles of Vegeta's arm.

'Vegeta!'

Randy was shouting too, words that washed over Bulma, and she pushed them out of her mind as irrelevant for now.

The Saiyan swung his head around to stare at her, looking almost as surprised as Bulma should feel, but didn't because she was too drunk. She smooshed her face with her hand, feeling far to out of it to cope with whatever was happening. She hadn't ruled out the possibility that someone had spiked her drink and she was hallucinating. This just didn't make any sense.

'What are you  _doing here_?'

Vegeta dropped Randy like he was hot and just stood gawping like he didn't know the answer himself.

* * *

Vegeta had begun his hunt by making the short flight to the head quarters building to stand in the security lights before the grand entrance.

He'd never been inside before, having no need, but the lobby was sealed up like a glass cage. Where was the door? It was all just glass – how did Earthlings get inside such buildings? He was about to smash one of the panels when a uniformed slob of a man came striding towards him and pressed a button. One of the panels slid open and the man stepped out.

'You go a problem, buddy?'

'I'm looking for Bulma Briefs.'

'Who's asking?'

'Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans.'

The man's eyebrows rose. 'That means diddly-squat to me. Come back during business hours. I'm sure someone will make an appointment for you or some other secretary-type bullshit.' Another man was wandering across the lobby to join them.

Vegeta hissed and tried again. 'I am her guest at her house, and her father is requesting her presence. The need is urgent.'

'Oh, yeah? Doctor Briefs called before. I'll tell you what I told him - she's not here.'

'Has she been here today?'

'I don't know,' the slob said, but the second man cut in.

'She was. But they all left about three hours ago in a mini bus. They were off down the conference centre with their proto-thingee.'

Questions swarmed Vegeta's mind. Who were "they"? What proto-thingee? What was a mini bus? But he selected only the most pertinent one to ask. 'Conference centre?'

'Yes. You know,  _the_  conference centre - West City Auditorium and Event Centre?'

'How do I find it?'

'It's on the main strip in the centre of town. Great big sign, great big building. You can't miss it.'

Vegeta took off without further ado, leaving two security guards gulping in surprise.

Indeed, the conference centre was impossible to miss. It was the largest structure in the city centre, and if that hadn't tipped him off, the massive animated billboard high above the front entrance would have. The smiling faces of Bulma and her father appeared, 20 foot tall next to the Capsule Corp logo before fading into an advert for the "Sci-Tech Tomorrow's World Conference", the conference centre itself, and then lastly an advert inviting him to 'Taste the Best, Forget the Rest with Royal-Pash Iced Tea", before Bulma's giant face appeared again.

He performed a similar interrogation outside the conference centre, but this time he was pointed across the road to a smaller stone building. As Vegeta shouldered his way through a pack of loiterers to the door of this building he could feel her chi bobbling around inside.  _His prey_.

'Sorry, sir,' said a large man dressed like a penguin, in an entirely unearnest voice. 'You can't come in here dressed like that.'

Vegeta looked down at his black muscle shirt, black shorts and grey Capsule Corp sneakers and then back up at the man.

'Would you care to place a wager on that?'

A few moments later, upon entering whatever this place, Vegeta's nose was assailed by the smell of multitudinous bodies, perfumes, colognes, narcotics and above all alcohol. The noise was overpowering, and as he followed Bulma's energy into the chaotic environment of the large hall at the back he had to steel himself. The noise thundered into him, striking him in the chest, unbearable and inescapable, and the lights and lasers and strobes pierced and disorientated him while people jerked and thrashed in pain all around. It was a sensory overload chamber, designed to drive people past the limits of their wits so that they would tell any secret and or perform any task in return for silence and calm. Frieza had had one almost exactly the same. No wonder there were guards on the doors. What the hell had the woman gotten tied up in?

He pushed himself through the crowd, his own pulse speeding in anxiety, but it was only as he stepped between couples and groups he realised that no one was trying to escape. Some people moved as if in a trace. Others speared to be  _smiling_. Was this more baffling Earthling nonsense?

And then he'd seen her writhing like all the rest, and then she was stumbling, but some  _other_  man was picking her up and –

Things had gone red for a few seconds, and he'd offered to tear the balls off the lanky giraffe-man who had the temerity to touch the Woman, and now he was staring at her being asked to explain himself.

'I might ask you the same question, Woman,' he said, reaching for words to disguise his lack of answer.

'Hey, Little Man' said the other male, who apparently didn't know when he was outclassed. 'Leave my girl alone!'

My girl.  _My girl?_  Suddenly the red was back and he snatched at the shirt of the dipshit again and shook him ferociously, his voice hitting such a low register as he growled that he frightened even himself.

'She's not "your girl."'

Good gods, he wanted to kill the cretin badly, but they were completely surrounded by witnesses. Already a circle of people had turned to watch the altercation. The woman was in his face again, leaning over his arm and screaming at him, her breath stinking of alcohol.

'Let him go, Vegeta! Don't hurt Randy, he's one of my best engineers!'

'What business does your engineer have groping and kissing you?'

She glared up at him, obviously intoxicated. He'd thought she must be drugged or here under duress, but the next thing out of her mouth put away that notion.

'What does it matter to you what his business is? It's not  _your_  business, and that's all you need to know!'

Well, he felt half like killing her, too! He'd figured that she'd thought better of having any further connection with him, but he hadn't known that she would, so quickly, be out pushing herself on such lowly specimens as this one. The thought that he could come out second best to this nothing, this… _Randy?_

He let go of the snivelling coward and brushed Bulma off his arm. She tottered, but he turned his back on her and stalked back through the crowd, too angry and humiliated to remember anything about gravity simulators or conference opening speeches. He made up his mind that he was going to wait until the old man was free to fix the ship, and then he was going to take it back into space to train until it was time for the androids to arise. Nothing in the world could induce him to stay at Capsule Corporation after tonight.

* * *

Bulma watched his retreating back, trying to make sense of his appearance still. Why was he here? And why had he taken such an issue with Randy? Her numbed brain was still trying to get around to the point.

'Bulma,' said Randy behind her. 'Who the hell was that little troll? Are you okay? Bulma?' He put an arm around her shoulders, but the action was suddenly and immediately repulsive to her.

'No!' she said, threw his hand off and began pushing through the crowd after Vegeta. How could it be that he acted like a jealous man? Damn it, these shoes were going to do her in! She kicked them off and ran full tilt, just catching up to Vegeta in the middle of the lobby bar.

'Vegeta, wait! Why are you here?' she cried. He looked like he was going to ignore her and keep going, so she ran into the back of him and wrapped both arms around his neck. 'Tell me what's going on?'

Vegeta stiffened and grabbed one of her arms, hauling her off his back and in front of her.

'Damn it, Woman! What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you sample  _all_  the intoxicants here tonight?'

'No,' she replied, dangling from his hand and trying to get her feet back under her. 'Only about half the cocktail menu,' she admitted, snorting with laughter.

He made a face and his grip tightened on her arm.

'Why are you here?' she asked again.

'The spaceship is broken again,' he told her with a furious expression. 'I require you to fix it so that I can leave this hell hole of a planet.'

'I can't do anything about that tonight,' she said. 'I  _think_  I might be a drunk too bit. Wait – you're leaving the planet? Why?' She stared at him, trying to make sense of his silence and his stoniness.

'That is…none of  _your_  business,' he said eventually.

'Do you want to get away from me  _that_  badly?' she said.

'Who said it was anything to do with you? And I thought you'd be pleased. If I leave you can stop avoiding your own house and start bringing your new fuck round for pizza and fellatio like you did with your last companion.'

Bulma gasped, but before she could respond to that one, Vegeta continued.

'Though I must say, as weak as the human Yamcha was, he was still a thousand times more worthy than this one. I guess you're finally settling for someone more on  _your_  level.'

'You WHAT?'

A bouncer was rushing over to them now; their argument must be obvious in the relative quiet of the lobby bar.

'Is this guy bothering you, Miss Briefs?' said the bulky man, whose musculature strained his tuxedo. She was tempted to say yes, but that would only end badly for the innocent bouncer. She decided to suck it up for the moment.

'He's fine. He's a  _dick_ , but he's my… _friend_ ,' she replied and grasped Vegeta's shoulder with her free arm with false affection. 'We're just having a rousing little discussion.' As soon as the bouncer drifted away she leaned into him and hissed, 'Randy is not my  _new fuck!_  How dare you say something so nasty! And I haven't sunk to his level! I'll have you know that I am much too good for him,  _or_  Yamcha! I'm much too good for you too, Mister, even though you oppositively think the obvious!'

'Too good for me?' he growled, untangling her arms from around his neck once more. 'I have suspected your madness for some time now. Pray tell, should your drunkenness allow, why it is  _obvious_  that I think the  _opposite_?'

'Oh, I don't know!' she said sarcastically. 'Telling me that I was pushing my luck if I thought we were going to…have  _sex_  again! And pretending like it was only me that enjoyed it! Do you - do you know what –  _you're_  the mad one!'

'I said no such things!  _You're_  mad!'

'You did so!  _You're_  mad!'

'When did I?'

'In the note that I sent you! Your reply was the rudest thing I've ever read!' she screeched, forgetting to be discrete. A woman seated on a couch near them was listening to their exchange so closely that she jumped at Bulma's high register and spilt half her espresso martini down her cleavage.

Vegeta grabbed Bulma's face to bring her bobbling eye line directly to his.

'What note?'

'The note!' she gabbled. 'The note I sent you with the cookies! Peanut butter and chocolate chip!'

He shook his head. 'Do you mean a few days ago? The day after…?'

'Yes, the day after you told me how you'd always wanted me, just to get into my pants! I put the note on the plate of cookies that my mom was going to take to you. I found your reply on the same plate in the kitchen.'

'The cookies that your  _father_  brought to me, without a note.' Vegeta's face screwed up in disgust.

'There was no note? What could've happened to it? Where did the reply come from then? I don't get it,' said Bulma.

'Count yourself lucky that you are too inebriated to understand,' he said. 'What the Hell was written in that note? Wait! On second thoughts, don't tell me.'

Bulma was starting to understand one thing though. Vegeta had acted like a jealous man because he  _was_  a jealous man. And while she'd been avoiding him, he'd thought that she was rejecting him. All was not lost! He still stood stiff as an iron railing though, and didn't move an inch when she pulled on his wrist.

'Vegeta,' she said, 'Let's work this out. Come have a drink with me.'

'I think you may have drunk enough.'

'Maybe I'll have a juice, but you look like you need to wind down.'

'Wind down? In this place? It's designed for suffering and torment!'

'No it's not! It's a nightclub. It's where people come to have fun and let loose.'

'That's part of the problem,' he said, beginning to follow her reluctantly. 'There are  _people_  here.'

'Oh, Vegeta, dear,' she trilled, sounding more like her mother than she would have ever thought possible. 'You have a drink or two and see if you don't mind  _people_  so much.'

'I'd rather go home.'

'Oh, come on! You're not that sensitive are you? Can't handle a bit of conversation and liquor and company? Jeez!'

He scowled back at her. 'I can handle anything you throw at me, human!'

* * *

Vegeta eyed the bar stools, which seemed to mock him with their tallness, and chose to lean against the bar instead.

'What'll it be, Sir?' asked the whelp behind the polished walnut. Vegeta eyed the line up behind the bar, recognising nothing, which was hardly surprising. The boy saw his confusion and handed him a black bound book. 'Our drinks menu, Sir.'

Vegeta flopped the fat thing open and stared with despair at a list of things he didn't recognise.

'Woman, order something for me,' he said in defeat. She pressed her lips together and scrunched her face in delight at the prospect of this mental challenge. She ran a weaving finger down the menu, her face inches from the page and one eye closed. Last time he'd had to deal with a companion this drunk he'd had to carry Nappa back to base and hose him off before putting him in a regen tank. He was not really sure what was going on with her after the revelation about the note. It seemed that things weren't as clear-cut as he'd thought. But she  _had_  let that guy paw her before. He was not going to leave her to her own devices until he had the full story.

'An Old Malt Cask, Banahub…Bunahub - I mean, Bhunnahabhain, and a…grapefruit juice, please,' she ordered.

'A double?'

'Better make it a quadruple, he's got some catching up to do,' she told the barman with a theatrical wink, then she fell off the bar stool she was trying to mount. Vegeta caught her before she could fall and make a spectacle, but it looked like it was impossible for her not to make a spectacle in the state she was in, as she threw her arms around his neck and sagged against him.

'Oh, Vegeta…I thought you didn't want anything to do with me!'

He pushed her away. 'I'm still considering it.' King Cold's balls, someone could get drunk off her breath alone. 'Tell me, do you wrap yourself around every man you meet when you're this shit-faced, or just me and the beanpole from earlier?'

'I didn't "wrap" myself around Randy!' she exclaimed, but the guilty expression on her face told another story.

'Oh, really?'

'Anyway, that was earlier, when I thought you didn't like me.' She pouted and collapsed against him again. 'You do like me, though, don't you, Vegeta? Or else why would you care?'

Vegeta leaned away from her, not sure how to respond to that. He didn't  _like_  people! He was an asshole and he knew it. But why  _was_  he here, then? His eyes dropped from her triumphant expression to where she pushed against him. Two squishy mounds were pressed to his chest, squeezing up against the scoop neck of the dress she wore, like cheerful dough balls begging to be kneaded.

'Ahh…'

'Sir, your whisky,' said the barman, plonking a tumbler down next to them. 'Your grapefruit juice, ma'am.'

Vegeta lifted the "whisky" and took a gulp, immediately choking on the unexpected fire.

'What - the - hell?' he gasped. 'What are you trying to do to me, Woman? This tastes more like something you'd use to sterilise a wound than something to drink!'

Bulma pulled the glass to her and took a tiny sip. 'Mmm. I suppose you  _could_  do that with it – it is cask strength after all.  _Very_  nice stuff. Kinda want one myself.'

He looked at her in disbelief. This was Earth liquor? He took a second, smaller and more cautious sip, which burned all the way down, and on his next breath he wheezed. He must've been grimacing because she asked, 'What's wrong? I would have thought a  _Saiyan_  would be able to handle his liquor.'

'Of course I can!' he replied automatically. He didn't drink often, and this stuff was nothing like the sweet, weak draughts he was used to. He didn't want to reveal his ignorance by asking what "cask strength" was, but it must be stronger than the 3% that was standard for the drinks in most of the PTO bars. Still, he was sure that he could handle it. Saiyans were superior to humans in every way, and liver function should be no exception. 'Nothing you humans imbibe could possibly have an effect on a Saiyan.'

He quickly sipped at the drink, getting half of it down in under a minute. The woman sucked her juice up through a straw and grinned at him.

'So, do you want to…have another go?' she asked, flicking an eyebrow up.

Vegeta felt a flush spread up from his neck, due to the whisky or the words he wasn't sure. 'Did you really just ask that in  _here_?' he scolded.

'What? No one knows what I'm talking about.'

He started to gulp back the rest of the drink to cover his fluster as she ran a hand up his bare arm. He knocked it away and quickly looked around in case anyone had seen.

'You have no sense of propriety at all!'

'Pop-eye-ity?' she repeated and then giggled at the mess she'd made of the word. 'Where was propriety when the moon was out? You're so uptight, Vegeta! No one cares. No one knows I'm talking about…' she leaned over to speak huskily into his ear, tickling him with her breath. '…having sex with the Prince of all Saiyans!'

Lust bolted down Vegeta's spine, threatening to distort the tight fabric of his shorts. He could all too clearly picture her sighing under him after all his hours spent fantasising about it since their last encounter.

'Mmm,' she moaned, as if she was right there in the picture in his head. 'I haven't stopped thinking about you since that night, and the way you kissed me… _like a Saiyan_ ….' She ground her crotch against his thigh, just in case he missed exactly what she was referring too, and Vegeta felt warm and heavy with the hazy memory of coiling his tongue around that honeytrap. 'Holy cow, Vegeta, I want you!' she said, and under all the airs and vapours of the evening he could  _smell_  that she told the truth. She licked his earlobe and he grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her alongside him, only to stop her from doing something that would make his pants situation worse. She laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist.

'Two more of those, please' she said to the barman as he passed by again. 'Old Malt Cask. Just singles will do.'

'No,' said Vegeta. 'We're leaving!' He'd heard enough, and now he wanted to get back before every schmuck in the joint could see the tent he was pitching for the blue haired woman.

'We are?' Her face lit up. 'Your place, or mine?' she teased.

'Idiot! You know very well it's the same place.'

The barman placed two more glasses on the counter. 'Oh, yay! Thank you!' she said and picked it up, taking a large sip before Vegeta tore the tumbler from her hand.

'No!' he told her. 'You've had enough.'

'Aw. Don't let it go to waste though.' She pressed the glass to his lips instead. 'Bottom's up!'

He knocked it back without a second thought, only to find her with the second glass at her lips. He took that one from her too and pulled her towards the front door while she laughed and let her hand drop from his waist to his rump and squeeze. It was at this moment, while they were moving, that Vegeta became aware that something had gone badly wrong. The stumbling woman was pulling him off balance, but that  _shouldn't_  be happening because his balance was too good and he was too strong to be thrown off course by her. As he turned his head this way and that to see if they were being watched his eye sight swam and he found it hard to lock onto any faces. His fingers tingled. His mouth was numb.

At the door he stopped in surprise before another of those overfed beefcakes with soft muscles that were only for show.

'Leaving, Miss Briefs?' the man said, looking down at Bulma.

'Uh huh!' she said, grinning at the man.

'Had a bit much to drink, have we?'

'Oh, just an eensy bit!' she said, screwing up her face and holding up on finger and thumb to wave about in front of her face to indicate the small extent of her inebriation, and instead demonstrating its large extent. 'But don't worry, I'm not driving.'

'Is this a new friend you've met tonight?'

'I'm not a  _friend_ ,' said Vegeta, annoyed that he was being ignored.

The Woman giggled. 'It's okay,' she said. 'He lives with me.' Then she held up her hand to screen her mouth from Vegeta as she leant forward and whispered not-quietly-enough 'He's so  _hot_! I'm gonna do "it" with him!'

'Very good, ma'am,' said the bouncer, stepping aside and opening the door for them. They stepped out onto the marble of the top step, and too late Vegeta sensed the threat that lurked all around. A crowd of faces turned towards them, hands coming up holding black, electronic devices, which burst with disorientating flashes of light. The whole scene was made more dizzying by the red, revolving lights on top of an ambulance behind the crowd.

'Miss Briefs!' they squawked, like a flock of human geese. 'Bulma, over here! Bulma, who's your friend?'

'Ack!' she yelped. 'Paparazzi!' Vegeta brought his hand up automatically.

'Big Bang Att-'

'No!' she screamed and pulled his arm down. 'Back! Back inside!'

She hauled on his arm and Vegeta tripped on the step behind him and stumbled backwards into the nightclub again. The last thing he saw before the bouncer slammed the door shut was the other bouncer from outside who'd lost the wager earlier, his head being bound by medics in the open back of the ambulance, lift an accusing finger and shout, 'That's the guy!'

The woman was yammering away, and suddenly Vegeta was hard pressed to follow what was happening.

'We can't go out the front!' she was saying to the bouncer that had shown them out. 'You must have a back door?'

'Of course! This way, Miss Briefs.'

He was towed back through the hall of horrors, behind another bar and down a corridor towards another door.

'Who are the paparazzi?' he asked.

'The enemy of everyone famous who values their privacy!' she told him.

'I don't see what the problem is,' he complained. 'I could have taken your enemies out with a single attack.'

She looked up at him, her face moving in a series of odd and exaggerated expressions. She held a finger up. 'Firstly, BAD Vegeta! No killing silly humans, even if they are annoying. But secondly, you would kill my enemies for me? That's so sweet!'

'Of course,' he said as she swooned into his arms once more. 'I need an excuse to kill someone. I haven't killed anyone in months, and it's beginning to bother me.' Off balance, his foot slid off a step behind him and they both fell, Vegeta landing heavily on his back while Bulma landed safely on top of him. 'Oof!'

She laughed, unperturbed by the fall. 'You're so funny when you actually talk!' she said.

_Funny?_

She leaned over him and kissed him on the lips, her tongue plunging in and scattering his thoughts in that Earth-manner of kissing of hers. He would have reminded her of where they were if he hadn't swiftly forgotten himself.

'Ah,' she said, breaking away and running a hand up under the front of his shirt. 'Somehow I knew, when I asked you to come live at my house, that this would happen.'

'Ahem! Sir, madam?' Vegeta looked behind him from his position on the floor with Bulma hunched over him. The bouncer who had led them to the back door now held it open, while he looked down at them in consternation. Two paparazzi seized that moment to leap up the steps onto the threshold, cameras clicking in excitement.

'Omigod, don't just stand there!' the Woman screamed. 'Close the fucking door!' She dragged herself to hands and knees, and then, wobbling, to her feet as the bouncer pushed the men down the stairs again and slammed the door once more. 'How are we going to get out of here?'

Vegeta jumped to his feet too, beginning to feel trapped by this situation. Somehow this night had all got turned around for the better, but he wanted to get her back onto his territory very soon before anything else could go wrong.

'I could knock through the wall and fly us home that way,' he offered.

The bouncer laughed nervously, but Bulma said, 'No, let's not resort to that yet.'

'Come upstairs to the duty manager,' said the bouncer. 'The roof has a hover pad, if you can arrange a pick up from a hoverjet. I'll get the manager to clear it for you.'

'Good thinking,' said Bulma.

They followed the wide back of the man up a narrow stairway. Vegeta fell into the wall several times on the way up, his hand tearing the banister off when he clutched at it.

'This building has very poor construction,' he complained, feeling like the entire stairway was listing like a ship at sea.

'Does it?' said Bulma, crawling up the stairs behind him on hands and knees.

In the manger's office a blur of words were exchanged, and Vegeta was taken surprise by the man shaking his hand, but it was all over before he had time to form an objection or rip his arm off. Soon they were out of the roof in the cool air and Vegeta could see the city spreading out from them, disorientatingly uniform in every direction. Which way was home?

'How long until your jet arrives?' asked the smiling manager person.

'I don't need a jet,' said Vegeta contemptuously. He hefted the woman into his arms and jumped into the air, which had taken on a certain squishy and resisting quality.

'Oooh!' squealed Bulma, delightedly. 'I don't think we should have done that!'

'Why not?'

'I forget! But I love it when you're all bossy like that. Like, "Fnah! I'mma fly bitch! I don't need no jet!"' She laughed loudly at her own impersonation.

'I don't talk like that!'

'Kind of, you do. It's sexy!' she said. She wriggled in his arms, freeing one of her own to grab his crotch. 'It turns me on!'

'What the…!'

Vegeta spun slowly on the spot in the air, having no idea which direction to take, all the while becoming more distracted as his cock hardened under her impertinent little hand. How could he have lost his sense of direction? He could see the convention centre, but he could no longer remember which way he'd come from to find it while her hand moved over his crotch.

'Stop that,' he told her.

'But you like it!' she said. 'Deny that you do,' she added, rubbing her face into his neck. Vegeta could deny nothing. He started a wide circle over the vicinity, to see if anything would jog his memory, but it was like he couldn't see straight. Even staying level was an effort. She was kissing his neck now, kissing him and still rubbing him through his shorts.

'Degenerate,' he said. 'Can you not wait a few short minutes before we begin?'

'No,' she said, and pouted. 'I've waited too long.' Then she bit him where she'd just been kissing him.

'Uh!' He sucked in his breath and felt momentarily derailed by the wild thing inside him that wanted to fuck her right here in the air above the city.

'So it's true what Chichi said,' she murmured cryptically, and then bit down gently again.

'Ah! Woman! Bulma!'

She pulled her legs free of his arm, and he had to snatch her around the waist before she dropped to her death. 'Have you forgotten where we are?' he asked.

'Aren't we home yet?' she said.

'No-' he began, but was silenced by her lips and she kissed him with all the wet and languid passion of the very drunk. She wrapped her legs around his hips and her hands returned to his shorts, to his shock, uncurling and freeing his erection from his clothes and putting him on display for all the passing seagulls and voyeuristic inner city residents with binoculars. He seemed to be somewhat missing the willpower to actually stop her though, and she  _was_  insistent. He kissed her back, thrusting himself into her hands as he took them higher. If he couldn't figure out how to get home then at least altitude would give them some privacy.

'Oh, Vegeta,' she said, when their lips parted. 'It's just like I dreamed it will be after you've defeated the androids! Make love to me!'

Vegeta was taken aback. He strived so hard to become Super Saiyan, to destroy the androids and Kakarott, and he believed it would happen so hard that some days it made him wonder if the effort of believing should be so great if he truly did have faith in himself. He had just assumed that all Kakarott's human friends were willing him to fail and laughing behind his back. His place in the Briefs household had been offered before any threat from the future was known, and was not contingent on his success against the androids, but they offered technical support and quiet tolerance of his ambitions. But to hear that someone else actually believed in him! And to top it all, she might be the only human whose opinion he cared about, and without a doubt was also the sexiest. It made the blood pound into his cock till it was fit to burst.

'Yes!' he cried, rolling over onto his back in the sky so that she lay on top of him and his hands were free for other things. He loosed his tail from around his middle, wrapping it around hers instead to pull her hips down until she ground against the length of him, drawing out a moan from her that was music to his ears. He licked down her throat and pulled the hem of her dress up until it was around her armpits, then pushed her upright so that she was sitting astride him, legs dangling in the air and her breasts on display. He remembered them from the other night of course, as if from a dream, but this was reality! They were trapped in red lacy slings. He'd seen this sight from a distance before, but never close up (not that the woman knew that though). Gods, he'd never thirsted for a woman like he had for this one, this weird, bad tempered, unnaturally clever, yet wilfully obtuse woman who'd declared herself off limits from him almost the instant they'd met.

She bucked on his lap and reached down to slap him on the ass.

'Giddy-up, boy!'

'What?'

'Nothing,' she said, her impish grin coming out again as she squinted down at him. 'I'll let you take me for a ride, bronco.'

'You are utterly full of nonsense.'

'No, I'm not! Or else there'd be no room for  _you_  inside me…'

He gasped at her vulgar mouth and the equally vulgar mind it revealed even as most of him looked forward to revelling in that vulgarity very soon.

'You're different tonight,' she said. 'You're shier.'

'I'm not  _shy_ ,' he said, as testily as he could manage with a pair of perfect tits in his face.

'Maybe not. Maybe you're just more…you. Mr Uptight Grumpy-Pants.'

'I told you I wasn't myself the other night!'

'Oh, and I totally knew it too.'

'And is this a problem?' he said, starting to get disheartened.

'No,' she said, trailing a hand down his face. 'I fell in love with the you that is you,' she said, and then she slapped a hand to her mouth. 'Did I just say that?' she asked, and overbalanced, sliding right off his chest and squawking in surprise to find herself hanging upside down from Vegeta's tail.

_Love?_

What the hell did she mean by that? He hauled her upright and she waved her hands about, as if trying to erase the last few seconds.

'I  _meant,_  of course, that that is what  _attracted_  me to you. You, I mean. You know?' she asked. She peered down at his confused expression, her smile turning salacious. 'I meant that you're so hot that every time I see you I want to roll over and beg for you to pet me.'

Vegeta's mouth fell open.

'Touch me, Vegeta!'

She grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, sighing aloud, and Vegeta was unable to help his own vocalisation as he experienced their weight and softness and smooth skin at last, the little buds of nipples puckering with excitement under the lace. She bent her panting face to his and kissed him again. There was a great advantage to this lip-to-lip kissing thing – it gave one something to so with one's face when otherwise guarded emotions would be passing unhindered over it, and he had a feeling that far too much was going on with his face right now.

He ran his hands over the curves he'd exposed, grasping her shoulders, hips, buttocks before returning to her breasts. Not able to resist any longer, he tugged the lace down from one and pushed her up so he could explore it with his mouth.

'Oh!' she said, grinding herself into him with unexpected force. 'Oh Vegeta, that mouth! I'll do whatever you want for that mouth! I'll let you do whatever you want with me!'

Good Gods, he'd never heard an offer like that before! He was starting to shake with lust as fantasies crashed through his mind, all asking to be fulfilled. He went on suckling her for a while she rode him, becoming more and more vocal and slicking him even though the silk of her underwear.

'Tell me what you want!' she demanded.

He looked up at her mussed face and hair, and tried to gather the words. 'I want…' To say it he would sound as vulgar as she did.

'What?'

'You should…'

'Yes?'

He gave up and pushed her shoulders back. She got the picture and shuffled back along his legs, and he pushed her head down while she  _laughed_. He had to let go of her with his tail, but she settled securely between his shins, her legs hooked over his, and bent over him. Really, he could wish for a more relaxing way to have this happen than having to keep airborne with her balanced on his legs, but urgency was the sentiment of the moment.

'Oh,  _there_  you are,' she crooned, and licked her wicked tongue up the underside of his cock, then slipped his head past her smiling lips.

'Ah…'

Her hot mouth devoured him, sliding up and down him as her head bobbed, and he was lost in the mysterious sensations at work on his manhood. Lips, tongue, throat, even a sharp hint of teeth now and then; it was all just a blur of heat and movement and envelopment to him. Her clumsy hands joined in the play as well, one slick with saliva stroking the base where her lips couldn't reach so it didn't miss out, and the other dipping between his legs to cup his balls. Vegeta tensed with natural apprehension at letting a very drunk woman near his jewels, but they remained undamaged, tightening at her touch. She moaned as if it were her own pleasure she was working.

'Oh, fuck,' he said, thrusting back into her mouth. He reached down and cupped her breasts and she moaned again, driving down on him with renewed effort. His eyes stared disbelieving at the succubus swallowing his prick, up and down, in and out, entranced until the instant a seagull landed on his chest.

'Kahh!' it said and Vegeta jerked with fright before he flicked the thing to kingdom come.

'What was that?' Bulma asked, her head coming up.

'Nothing. Continue.'

She bent back to her work again, but after a few strokes she slowed and stopped. 'Wait a minute,' she said, raising her head, her butt dangling between his legs as she did so. 'How did  _you_  know about Pizza and Head Nights?'

'What?' he spluttered, blindsided by the abrupt subject change.

'You said I should be happy that I could bring Randy home for pizza and fellatio now, like I used to with Yamcha!' she yelled, glaring blearily at him. 'How did you know that?'

'What does that matter right now?' he complained. Of all the moments to bring up that waste of breath! He arched his hips at her, but managed only to slap her in the chin with his pecker.

'How?' she insisted, shaking her head away.

'It's not my fault if you are both loud and indiscrete! Not to mention predictable! Anyone cursed with a nose this sensitive; a working set of ears and a brain could deduce what occurred in the first floor lounge nearly every Thursday evening for months!

'Ah!' she cried in indignation. 'Creep! You, you  _spied_  on us!'

'I did not! I wish I hadn't worked it out, but the two of you made it too obvious not to! And when I did I was made sure to be far, far away EVERY THURSDAY NIGHT!'

She jolted upright and threw her hands to her face. 'Are you calling me smelly? A smelly, boring, big mouth-' she started, but she toppled over backwards, rolling out of her seat between Vegeta's legs and falling with a scream.

'Fuck,' he cursed and swooped after her, catching her by the wrist before she got too far.

'Please don't drop me, Vegeta, I didn't mean it!' she sobbed, dangling above the city lights.

'I didn't drop you, you mad lush. What do you think I am?'

He tipped back and pulled her up onto his midriff and she clung to him like a storm-tossed survivor clinging to a life raft, and she struggled to climb aboard, jelly-like limbs flailing and weak.

'You're not a creep,' she said, laying her head on his abdomen. 'You're a god. You're an angel. A fallen angel!'

'A what?' Laughter bubbled up from the utter ridiculousness of this assertion. 'I really hope you recall this in the morning, as I will never let you forget it.'

'What would you know about it, anyway?' She began crying again, and he was stunned into silence. 'It's so sad! Fallen from Heaven and all alone upon the Earth. My heart breaks every time!'

'What the fuck are you on about?'

She stroked a hand blindly down his side and began struggling to climb on top of him again. He reached down to her knee to give her a nudge up, but he caught the wrong knee, and when she finally made it up he was presented with the crimson silk of her pantie covered backside planted on his chest. She clung to him with her arms around his hips.

'The universe isso unfair!' she was wailing. 'I bet all that was needed was some kindness! Some mercy!'

Vegeta huffed. The woman was too drunk to make any sense at all. He should probably just take her straight home after all. He didn't trust her not to accuse him of taking advantage of her should she wake up with no memory of consenting to fooling around, and then if Kakarott found out, he'd be a dead man. The mention of Scarface and all the crying had cooled his ardour anyway.

'Quiet yourself, Woman. Sit up and tell me which way to get home.'

'I thought we were home already?'

'For fuck's sake - gah!'

She'd chosen that moment to return to her earlier task, sucking down on his flagging member and within a few moments returning it to its former glory. He should stop her. He  _should_  stop her…

'What do you think you're doing?' he gasped. She stopped long enough to snigger and say, 'I'm showing you some Earthly kindness,' and then she went back to work, shuffling her hips a little further up his body so that she was in a better position, drawing a snarl from him with her mouth, and her heavy scent now right in his face. He gave in to it, lifting his head and pressing his nose into the damp fabric, into the heat.

'Mmm-ah!' she exclaimed, and the noise was like kerosene poured over Vegeta's fire. He reached up and pulled the band of fabric aside, seeing the swollen lips, wet and open for him; a salty, savoury, slippery treat, served up on a plate just for him. Lifting her hips a little with his other hand, he dove in, laving the flesh from clit to hollow and she jumped in his hold, coming down on his cock with ever more vigour.

Fuck, he was a ruined man.

Growing frustrated with the crotch of her knickers getting in the way he tore the band of fabric in two and returned with unfettered gusto. With groaning, grunting and a fair amount of wet slurping noises, the couple battled each other with their mouths in the sky, meandering like a rudderless boat now that Vegeta's mind was far from navigation. A very small part of him wondered if it was wise to be doing this in mind air. After all, manipulation of chi required some level of control, of which he had precious little at this time, and might have even less soon.

_Screw it_ , he decided, all his senses except his good sense alight.  _This is worth a little freefall!_

She began to slow her pace, and he was arching up into her mouth, wanting more and more of her as her energy ebbed away.

'Woman,' he said urgently, his voice shaking with need. 'Turn around so I can have you completely.'

She pushed up weakly from his crotch, but her hand slipped and she face planted right back where she started. Vegeta flinched, waiting for her next attempt, but she didn't move.

'Woman?'

Nothing.

'Bulma? No! Don't tell me you've passed out?'

He rocked her side to side, and then slapped her on the ass. 'Hey, wake up!'

'Uhhhh…' was all he got out of her.

No! No! So close – this wasn't fair!

'Gods damn it to Namek and back!' he shouted, and then let out a wordless of roar of rage at this distressing turn of events. His head bumped into a smooth concrete wall, and he finally looked around him, noticing for the first time how close to street level they were. He shot into the sky again, cursing some more and hoping no one on the pavement had been looking up. Now that she was unconscious and unable to object, Vegeta corrected Bulma's position simply by pushing her off him and then following her fall to catch her in his arms. He very nearly regretted this move, as the moment he righted himself his head swam and he felt slow and clumsy, almost flubbing the catch.

'What the fuck…fucking whisky…' he muttered to himself as he looked around again. He was going to have to find the way home himself, the hard way. He heaved a sigh. The city was large, but not endless, and he began the task of flying up and down above the avenues searching for a large compound with a huge dome building in it, squinting one eyed like Bulma had with the menu, as he found that helped him see past his double vision.

'Nn! Ger me a kebab*,' uttered Bulma unintelligibly from his arms.

Vegeta ignored what he didn't understand.

What a sight he must look now! Flying around a city carrying a half-dressed and unconscious alien female, lost, drunk and with his dick hanging out of his pants. If they could see beyond the grave he was sure that Nappa and Raditz were pissing themselves with laughter, and his father was dying all over again from shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kebab ie. doner kebab, or shawarma, or gyro or whatever it's called in your neck of the woods. The 2am food of choice for drunks all around the world.
> 
> Author's Note: I don't know when the next chapter will be done...Eventually is all I can say. Please review! It totally makes my day and makes this the hard work of writing down my mental daydreams seem worth the effort to know that I've invaded someone else's imagination with them.
> 
> PS. for those that don't know, cask strength is the strength of whisky when it comes out of the barrels before it's diluted down and bottled. It's usually between 50% and 62% alcohol by volume, although I've seen some as high was 66%. The whisky Bulma ordered is 55%. Cask strength bottlings are favoured by many enthusiasts because being undiluted the flavour is more concentrated. It's also more expensive this way of course.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by Old Malt Cask Bhunnahabhain, the letter O and the number 69.


	4. Tomorrow's Bulma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Okay, it's been a while on this story, though this chapter was begun as soon as I posted my last. I just turn to this one when I feel like something sillier and snappier than Never Ever Land. I've also go another chapter of this in the wings. It occurred to me as I was writing the next chapter that this Bulma is terribly poorly behaved. Regret is her middle name.

'Urhhh...'

Bulma came awake by degrees, washed up on the shore of consciousness by wave after wave of misery. She moved her head on the pillow and even with her eyes still closed the world was spinning.

'Noooo!' she moaned her denial, fingers digging into the mattress, trying to latch onto anything in her realm of sensation that wasn't moving in a sinister and nauseating way. Her stomach was both burning and flipping and her brain felt like it would vomit if it could. Last night was a blank peppered with murky memories. She remembered a row of margaritas on the bar. She recalled inappropriate conversations with employees, cocktails, champagne and dancing with Randy. She remembered last night's resolution to not give a shit about the morning. Last Night's Bulma was such a dumb bitch.

_What have I done?_

She opened her eyes to see her bedroom in its usual state of disarray. This was a point towards the positive – at least she was in her own house. Moving ever so gingerly she stretched a leg out across the bed, searching for and finding no body lying there, she sighed with thankfulness. Still, that movement was enough to further disturb her head and stomach. Her brain felt like it was several sizes too small and floating in a bath of stale alcohol inside her skull, and her stomach, her stomach...! Saliva began pouring into her mouth and despite her extreme reluctance to move she was forced upright in anticipation of needing to rush to the bathroom, which getting up was enough to provoke. She struggled out from under the sheet and ran willy nilly to the ensuite, crashing into the door frame on the way before falling to her knees in front of the toilet.

'Bluergh!' _Oh no!_ 'Bleurrrrgh-bleh-pah!' _Make it stop! '_ Huerghh-ack-spu!' _Why did I do this to myself?_

The vomiting stopped but the nausea continued. Her head was rotten. She hugged to toilet bowl and gave into some self-pitying weeping. It was enough to drive one to religion and empty promises!

'Kami, I swear, I will never drink again, just make this suffering end!'

Kami didn't oblige, but after another round of retching she felt settled enough to venture away from the toilet. Crawling on hands and knees she made her way back from the bathroom, the bedroom tilting oddly around her.

 _Holy Turnip, I'm still drunk!_ she realised as she emptied her bedside waste-paper bin and set it next to the pillow, just in case. She pulled on the nightshirt that she found balled up in the sheets and tried to find the position that would provoke the merry-go-round in her head the least. Her clothes from yesterday lay crumpled on the foot of her bed – she must've been too drunk to find her nightshirt last night. Come to think of it, she didn't remember getting into bed last night. Or even how she got home.

 _You've really outdone yourself this time! That was stupid and reckless, Bulma!_ she chastised herself. And now she was being punished for it. Punished severely...

Her phone rang and she ignored it. Five minutes later it rang again. 'What's so damn important?' she hissed. A minute later it beeped as a text message came in. She reached out with her toes to snag the sleeveless denim jacket and pull it to her, then took the phone out of the pocket.

98 missed phone calls! Crap, she was not up to dealing with an emergency! She looked at the most recent missed calls, sweating with the effort. A few this morning were from Capsule Corp's PR office, and she skipped past them. It was no doubt some business with the conference, which she had no intention of dealing with this morning. There was one from Randy's phone, which she also wasn't going to deal with. The text message was from him too, and she read it, hoping for clues to how she got home.

_I know I don't have any right to ask, but I'm worried. You seemed pretty out of it when you went chasing after that guy. Did you get home safely last night?_

Her stomach turned over again at this added layer of mystery. Who did she chase after? Come to think of it, she had a hazy memory of going down on someone last night...Oh god! She marshalled her shrivelled brain to see what it could cough up. She remembered Perspectiva trying to get Yamcha's number from her. She didn't end up booty calling Yamcha, did she? That would be humiliating. She remembered dancing with Randy. Oh no, she remembered holding onto him as he kissed her on the dance floor! Did she do him in the bathroom or something? No, no! But his text message didn't sound like that had happened, not unless she'd gone down on him in the bathroom and _then_ ditched him to chase after another guy, which, now she came to it, she could recall literally running after someone and throwing her arms around his neck. Spiky hair, a bad temper, an argument...Vegeta? She had an image of his scandalised face at the lounge bar. But no! That was impossible! Why the heck would he be at the club? Maybe in her drunkenness she'd thrown herself at some other vertically challenged asshole? She hoped to hell that the blow job she remembered was just a dream rather than an actual happening.

She texted Randy back with a terse _I'm fine_ , which was a complete lie.

His reply was almost instant. _I'm glad. See you later_.

Later when? Bulma was already of a mind to avoid the man out of embarrassment for the rest of her life, but she supposed she would have to see him at some point when she presented her fusion drive. He was the one who would start the demonstration during her talk. Damn.

She scrolled further down the list of calls. Most of them were from the house phone, her father's cell or the lab phone. Not up to calling, she hurriedly texted him.

_Daddy, I'm awake. Are you and Mom okay?_

_We're fine,_ was his reply. _I'm glad you're awake though. I'll be up in a minute._

That was weird. Up here in a minute? She didn't want visitors! Just the act of sending two text messages had her trembling with more nausea. She lay back, breathing deep through her nose. Was this the worst hangover she'd ever had? It felt that way! How could she possibly weather this misery?

A knock sounded on her door.

'Can I come in, Poppet?'

'Nnnn...yes,' she groaned. Maybe her father could be of help?

He opened the door.

'Daddy, I need you to carry me down to the med lab and put me in a medically induced coma for the next twenty four hours.'

Her father frowned and rubbed his moustache. 'Can it wait till this afternoon? We don't have long before we need to leave for the conference.'

'Dad, I'm not going to the opening!' she told him. 'I don't _feel well_...' She finished with a sob to underscore her hardship.

'Oh Bulma,' he said. 'I get quite a nervous tummy before public speaking too. Mine is all a flutter right now, but we've just got to get on with it.'

'What are you talking about?' she said, looking at him more closely. He was dressed in his best suit under a snow-white lab coat.

'My opening speech and your presentation this morning,' he said.

'What opening speech? And my presentation isn't for another two days.'

He looked surprised.

'Didn't Vegeta tell you? I saw him bringing you home last night. I would have thought he'd tell you.'

Bulma began shaking all over. He _had_ been at the club last night, but why? To bring her home for her father's crisis?

'Tell me _what?_ ' she demanded.

'That Zapp Industries pulled out of the conference yesterday evening. I was asked to do the opening speech instead of their CEO, and the conference organisers have moved your presentation from the closing spot to the opening one.'

She was trapped in a nightmare!

'Oh my god, no, Dad! I'm so hungover I don't think I can stand up!'

Her father looked flummoxed. 'Well, you'll need to get some coffee down you; we've got to leave in half an hour!'

'No! No! I can't do it!'

'But, Bulma, if you don't present your invention, who will?'

' _You_ could...'

'I don't have the foggiest about your project, my girl! Don't make me go out there alone!'

Bluma groaned again as resignation crept over her. She couldn't do that to her father. And she didn't want to miss out on showcasing her invention. _Jaws hitting floors_ , she reminded herself. 'Okay,' she said. 'I don't know how, but I'll manage it.'

'That's my girl! Once you've got some breakfast and coffee inside you I'm sure you'll feel just fine.'

Bulma didn't agree, but she held out hope that she would feel a little better, and sat up. She clutched her head before it could fall off her shoulders. The smell of alcohol tainted sweat rolled off her, and she hadn't washed for two days. She was disgustingly fragrant.

'A shower,' she gasped. 'I need a shower.'

'I'll see you downstairs then, Petal.'

Though haste was required, Bulma was reduced to a Tai Chi pace, trying not to jolt any of her volatile innards. Brushing her teeth in the shower to save time, she set off her gag reflex when she scrubbed her hairy tongue and retched for a while longer, then bashed her brow on the shelf that held her shampoos when she lost her balance. The use of a towel required too much vigorous rubbing and bending over, so she just wrapped her terry-cloth robe around her when she got out and made her way downstairs (holding onto the banister for dear life) to drip dry while she attempted to make substances go down her throat instead of up.

In the kitchen her mother was presiding over a mountain of breakfast foods.

'What do you want for breakfast on your big day?' she asked cheerfully.

'I don't know,' whispered Bulma. 'Coffee?' She blinked very slowly, and by the time she opened her eyes again her mother had placed a plunger of coffee, a mug and a little jug of cream in front of her.

'You've got to eat something too, Bulma! I know those nerves might be getting in the way, but adding hunger to the mix is only going to make things worse,' her mother advised.

'Bacon. Bacon and eggs,' she replied to this. She may as well _try_.

Her mother placed a far-too-bountiful plate in front of her.

'What's with all the food, Mom?' she asked. Surely she didn't expect her and her father to eat that much?

'Vegeta hasn't come down for breakfast yet,' her mother said sadly.

Bulma shrugged. She didn't have the brain cycles to spare for the mystery of Vegeta right now. She inserted a rasher of streaky bacon in her mouth and sucked on it. Its saltiness was somewhat steadying. She began the very slow process of getting food and liquid into her rebellious stomach. Tiny bits of bacon chewed ad infinitum and swallowed with a prayer managed to finish off one rasher before her tummy settled enough to let her attempt an egg.

Her father came striding in, white faced with his own private terror.

'Ten minutes, Pumpkin!'

Bulma though she would hyperventilate. 'I need to print my speech!'

'You need to get dressed!' her mother reminded her. Bulma realised that she didn't really have time to do both.

'Mom, I need your help.'

She wasn't sure if she'd ever uttered this sequence of words before, but her mother answered the long-awaited call to duty with immediate seriousness, throwing aside the tea towel she held and grasping her daughter by the shoulders. 'Anything, Sweetie! What do you need?'

'I need to you to go upstairs and get together an outfit for me to wear to the conference, then bring it down here.'

The woman's eyes opened wider than Bulma had ever seen them. 'At once, love! Any particular colours or themes?'

'I can't think straight Mom. Just something that says "Business Leader of the Future" or "Very Important Scientist" type person.'

'Okay, Bulma. You can count on me!'

Bulma struck out across the lawn, which seemed to have grown much longer since the last time she'd walked it sober, and made her way down into the lab, shedding more tears of self-pity along the way. Her damn speech wasn't even finished! She was not completely sure what state she'd left it in either, having had some ideas, but not knowing if she'd gotten around to writing them all down before she'd read the note from Vegeta and fled the house. She printed it out on plain paper, not even having time to make cue cards, and certainly not enough to learn it. She would have to read out her first draft and make the ending up on the spot!

Once she was back in the house her mother took her by the hand and led her into the downstairs lounge where an outfit was laid out on the sofa. Her mother had picked out a shiny pink sheath dress that was cut low on the bust and high on the hem; a pale cream jacket that was almost a shrug, with puffed shoulders and short sleeves, which must have been one of her mother's, because Bulma didn't recognise it; a pearl necklace; and a pair of pale cream sandals with 4 inch heels and pink feather pom poms over the toe straps, which Bulma had worn precisely once before deciding they weren't her thing. The older woman helped her struggle into it all, even crouching down to strap up the sandals when the task was too daunting for Bulma. Then she handed her a large, bright pink leather handbag with real gold embellishments, into which she'd put Bulma's wallet, speech and cellphone.

'Bulma, are you ready to go?' she heard her father call from the kitchen. 'I've got the hoverjet parked on the back lawn.'

Leaning on her mother's arm for support she tottered back into the kitchen.

'I've never felt less ready in my life, Dad!'

'That's the spirit!'

As she walked past the wall oven she caught sight of herself in the mirror finish. The outfit chosen by her mother was not technically a bad one, but the effect was more "Real Housewives of West City" than "Future Business Leader". Oh well, that's what she got for getting herself in a position where she needed to rely on her mother to dress her. Then she spotted her face in the reflection and flinched.

'I forgot about make up! I need to look less like a corpse!'

'I'm way ahead of you. Bulma, dear!' her mother said, producing Bulma's make up bag.

'Can you make me up?' she pleaded.

'Bulma, pet, we're already late!' protested her father.

Bulma took the bag from her mom. 'I'll do it on the ride over.' Before she followed her father through the back door she took another piece of bacon from her plate. Her stomach was feeling dangerously queasy again, and she hoped the bacon would help.

* * *

'Dad, drive more gently, please!' Bulma gasped, pressing her head back into the headrest. The movement of taking off and banking was sloshing her brain around.

'I _am_ driving gently, dear. Gently and _fast_.'

She stuffed the bacon into her mouth so that her hands were free to do her make up, but she was unable to swallow, leaving her cheeks full like a very sorry chipmunk. Hands shaking while she tried to do her make up, she spilled powder on the spotless cream of the jacket and poked herself in the eye with the mascara brush.

'Fuck it all,' she cursed under her breath as she slipped with the lipstick. 'Camera fucking ready, fuck it...'

As they landed she felt so hopelessly ill that she collapsed with her elbows on the dashboard and her face in her hands, heedless of her hair and the make up she'd just put on. 'Can't do it, Dad. Can't do it.'

'Yes, you can, Poppet,' he insisted.

Bulma whimpered. He didn't understand just how close to dead she felt right now, but at the same time, she couldn't let him down.

'Okay. I just need a minute.'

* * *

Vegeta felt bad. He'd slept late and then awoken reluctantly, pulling himself into the shower to slump against the wall, his spinning head resting on the cool tiles. Earth liquor had done him in. It looked like alcohol processing was one area in which Saiyans were _not_ superior to humans after all. He hoped that the Woman hadn't realised last night how drunk he was, though it was not likely, given how drunk _she'd_ been. Well, when he saw her there was no way he would betray how hungover he felt.

He slouched downstairs, finding breakfast and beginning to eat out of habit before a quailing of the stomach told him he'd better stop. His rotteness was making it hard to gloat over the events of last night, plus he was pissed off that his physical distress would affect his training. Then he remembered that he couldn't train anyway, because the spaceship's hull was breached. Ultimately all of it was the damn Woman's fault, by way of provoking him. He stabbed a sausage so hard that the fork cracked the plate and embedded in the kitchen table, and he left the mess for someone else to deal with.

Getting up to search out either her or her father, he realised quickly that neither of them were nearby. Reluctantly he moved next door where he both sensed the lunatic and heard the sounds of the television set.

'Female, where are your mate and daughter?'

The blonde turned to him with one of her nearly perpetual smiles. 'They're on TV, Vegeta!' she said proudly. 'It's only the Science and Technology channel, but still, a live broadcast! Look, Trunks is about to open the conference!'

Curious, but mostly just depleted by the trip from his bedroom, Vegeta sat on the far end of the couch from the woman and turned his attention to the screen. A large auditorium teemed with people, mostly sitting in rows, but many were still moving about. Photographers and television cameras filled the front row. A voice spoke over it all.

'If you've just tuned in with us, Capsule Corporation's founder and president is about to take the stage for the opening address. If you've been with us for a while, we apologise for the delay.'

Bulma and her father walked onto the stage. Unaccountably his heart beat faster when he saw her, and he shot a glance at her mother lest she had somehow developed the ability to read minds and see the lurid memories boiling in his. Bulma took a seat at the back of the stage looking, even from this distance, pale and ill. Well, at least he wasn't the only one suffering this morning, Vegeta thought with satisfaction. The doctor made his way to the lectern where a bristling of microphones waited to catch his words.

'Good morning ladies and gentlemen!'

There followed a twenty minute bore-fest that had Vegeta nodding off on the arm of the sofa, while the doctor stammered through phrases like 'technologists of the future', 'innovators and instigators', 'fostering development'. He didn't perk up until the doctor reached his conclusion.

'…and with that, I pass you into the capable hands of my daughter, who will present her own invention in the main exhibition hall in just a few short minutes.'

The crowd worked its way up to polite applause and the commentator cut over the top saying, 'And we will be taking a commercial break before crossing to Capsule Corporation's headlining product presentation. I can't wait to see what they have in store for us this year, nor what Capsule Corporation's second generation of innovators has to say for itself.'

Before the scene faded to adverts, Vegeta noted with some amusement that Bulma could be seen bodily dragging herself up out of her seat at the back of the stage, using her father's arm as a crutch. Vegeta cracked a smile at her distress. This presentation might be worth sticking around for. Well, good for a laugh, at least.

He wouldn't have admitted it to them, but he had become rather curious about what the Briefs did whilst he trained, and what exactly their standing was in this world. He could tell they were rich, but by the looks of things they were more important that he had realised.

Vegeta watched the commercials with baffled bad humour. He rarely watched any television since the day that he'd returned from space with Frieza and King Cold right on his ass. It only seemed to underline how little he knew about this planet he lived on. How very alien it was. But now, as the commercial for hair plugs ended (WFT was a hair plug?) he saw a different room, a different podium and a bizarre arrangement of household appliances behind it, in the middle of which was an anodised and gleaming, purple coloured _thing_. Bulma's blue head could be seen passing behind the front row of media before handing her handbag to an aide and taking the three steps to the podium and grasping it with both hands, looking like she was out of breath from the effort.

Her mother beside him clapped her hands with joy. 'Oh, there's my little girl, all grown up! Oh, but she looks a bit peaky still. What happened to her hair? And make up!'

Vegeta gave the image on the flat screen a little more scrutiny. It was true – the Woman looked rather more of a mess than usual.

'But don't look so concerned, Vegeta!' the blonde woman chided him. 'She's only got nerves before her speech.'

'I'm not concerned at all!'

'And now,' intoned the presenter, 'Bulma Briefs, Vice President of Capsule Corporation will present the Fuse-etta, an invention for which she was chief developer.'

* * *

Bulma unfolded her amateur-looking sheaf of printouts. She hoped the media in the front rows couldn't see how badly her hands were shaking. She hadn't expected this many press members. There were so many photographers, journalists and news crews that they spilled out of the roped off area that was reserved for them in front of the podium and were mingled in with the rest of the conference attendees. She was sure that there was double the amount that had watched her father's opening talk. She should have been ecstatic that she would get so much attention, but all she could think of was that this was an awfully bright spotlight in which to deliver a terrible speech.

She looked down at the words and blinked, trying to bring them into focus.

'Every year new inventions come to the market. Great and grand, small and playful ideas jostle for our attention, promising to change the world, or just entertain us. Many succeed, and some change our daily lives forever and unpredictably. But every so often, along comes an idea that has the potential to rearrange the paradigm in one, breathtaking swoop.'

_Phew! So far, so good._

'Imagine a city. Imagine the streets outside your houses. In your imagination, look up. What do you see? If you live on one of the estimated eighty percent of urban streets that still have overhead power lines, the chances are that that is what you see. Power poles. Power lines. But even in urban centres with subterranean power routing you will still see the sub stations. You will still be subject to road works to maintain and fix those underground power cables. Outside the city will still be the hulks of power pylons, bringing their loads from the distant generators. Remote power generation is a resource heavy and ugly business. It is riddled with inefficiency and even the greenest of large scale power generation leaves indelible marks on our natural landscapes.'

Well, her delivery wasn't exactly powerful or dynamic, but the material was better than she remembered. Bulma attempted to raise her voice a little so that it sounded more confident. Her stomach gurgled. _You can throw up all you like_ after _the demo_ , she told it.

'What else do you think of when you think about the electricity coming into your homes and businesses? Bills, am I right? Power companies. Price per kilowatt. Difficult customer service when contesting your estimated meter reading. It's a drag. No one loves dealing with their utility providers.

'So now imagine a world without any of these things. Because that is what I am bringing to you today – a world without power companies. The Fuse-etta will change the paradigm for good.'

She took a moment to glance out and see how this statement was taken. Hmm, not as seriously as she had hoped. No jaws on the floor yet.

'Now a lot of you will be thinking that this is a pretty bold statement by Bulma Briefs. Over-statement perhaps, but reserve your judgement a little while, folks, while I tell you something about what the Fuse-etta is. It's your own, private electricity supply. A miniaturised, domestic, affordable...fusion generator.'

At last she got a whiff of the reaction she was hoping for, but chiefly from the back rows where scientists, technologists and business people were packed in. Taking a look into the press corral she began to think that there was something wrong with this crowd. It's not that they weren't watching her intently – they were intent, and perhaps, even impatient - it's just that most of them didn't seem to be taking in anything she was saying.

She struggled to find her place on the page again.

'Cold fusion was meant to be the delivery.' Bulma stared at the sentence. That didn't even make sense. 'Cold fusion was...heralded as the...was meant to deliver us the new age of power generation,' she stumbled through at last. 'The lack of heat required would mean miniaturisation would be possible. But then broken promise after dead end, cold fusion failed to deliver.' _Urgh, the word "deliver" twice in one paragraph?_

'And while the cold fusion believers trudge ever further into the academic desert, the hot fusion science community continued to play into the old paradigm of remote energy generation. With a commercial fusion power station yet to come online, still no one until now has looked into the possibility of miniaturising hot fusion, because they're all...'

Bulma cut herself off just in time. Obviously she was getting to the sticky end of her speech. She couldn't call the entirety of the fusion research field "a pack of blathering idiots (LOL)", which is what her page said, so she felt the sentence hanging.

'Erm…Looking around I see some raised eyebrows,' she continued, reading aloud, forgetting to look up and check. 'Some of you may be wondering how plasma technology can be safe when owned and operated by consumers in their homes. Containing hot fusion is child's play for someone used to containing Vegeta-a...ah...oh my god.'

She blushed bright red and refused to raise her eyes to the crowd as a wave of confused muttering swept through it. Curse her offside ramblings! Did she really have to write that down?

'Some of you old enough might remember when people used to be timid of microwave ovens in houses too. Some of you might even be old enough to remember the anxiety that many people had when the first hoverjets were marketed to the general public. Safety is a matter of engineering combined with ease of use. I assure you it is possible, and by the end of this evening – I mean morning! Because obviously it's morning now – I will have convinced you of both its safety and its desirability.

'Now for the moment you've all been waiting for, the practical demonstration. Behind me is the prototype of the Fuse-etta household unit.' Belatedly she remembered to look up and indicate the purple fusion drive behind and slightly to the right of her. 'Would my lovely assistant care to add the fuel to the fuel hopper?'

She looked up at the "lovely assistant" and locked eyes with Randy, which made her head swim with dislocation. She had forgotten he'd be here. A wave of mortification hit her, along with the memory of his kissing her and then a murkier one of sucking on someone's nether regions. Saliva flooded her mouth as her stomach threatened to turn itself inside-out right in front of the technology community. She gulped air and searched her speech for anything to do with the actual demo. Luckily she and Randy had already sketched out how the demo portion would run yesterday afternoon.

Randy opened the hopper and made a show of placing shredded paper and some potato peelings in the chute.

'As you can see,' Bulma said, her voice shaking. 'The Fuse-etta runs on household waste. Almost any material will do, making its running cost nil.

'Randall Beauchamp, one of our engineering team will now boot the fusion drive.'

Randy did the honours, and the drive started with a tiny hum.

'A slight hum is heard as the fuel is prepared in the hopper, but the generator runs silently after this point. You may be wondering what the one little unit can power.'

Randy walked the perimeter of the display, turning on, one after the other, a dishwasher, a washing machine, a large screen TV, a stereo, a hair dryer, a vacuum cleaner, a hot water cylinder, a microwave, a blender, an oven, a stovetop laden with pots and a floor lamp.

'As you can see, it is ample,' she said. 'Randy, what is the output reading at the moment?'

'Thirty two percent!' he called loudly.

'Ample, with room to spare. Now, onto the science behind the product.'

She turned the page and it merely said 'Figure out how to dumb it down for everyone.' Crap. Her brain was too bust to do that on the fly!

Taking a deep breath she began talking about her invention, getting frequently tongue tied. Her mouth started to get away from her. Jargon and formulas bubbled from her lips when she couldn't think of any laymen's terms or simple way to convey the complex science behind what she'd created. It all came out in a random and jumbled mess. Looking across the crowd she could see that even the few scientists she hoped might be able to follow her were looking bamboozled. She saw one reporter in the press area mimic a quacking duck to her cameraman with her hand, causing several people around her to laugh. Then she noticed the logo on the woman's press pass, and her spiel came to a crashing halt. The Entertainment Channel? What was the _Entertainment_ Channel doing with a reporter at a tech conference? The network news channels and major papers she might hope were there for her project, but not The Entertainment Channel or, she started – the West City Crier, a veritable tabloid rag, whose reporter stood next to the Entertainment reporter.

She started to shake again, her hands and brow coming out in a cold sweat. She had no idea what was going on, but it didn't matter because she needed to get off the stage and into a bathroom stall, stat. Abandoning the presentation she stepped down from the podium, but was prevented from going any further by one of the conference organisers that had shepherded her there in the first place.

'Questions and answer time?' he reminded her urgently.

 _Oh no!_ 'Okay,' she whispered and made her way back to the podium.

'Any questions?' she asked bluntly.

To her shock, every hand in the press section shot into the air. Really, she'd thought they'd not really been following her.

She pointed at a female reporter from the Nine O'clock News.

'Yes?'

'Do you have any comment on the incident outside the conference centre last night?'

'No…What incident?'

This caused an outbreak of tittering amongst the crowd. The reporter was flicking about on the tablet in her arm and then turned it around to present it to Bulma.

'Do you mean to say that this isn't you?' she asked.

Bulma leant over the podium, expecting to see a paparazzi shot of her outside Empire with her team, but instead she saw the silhouettes of two people in passionate embrace outlined by a bright picture of herself and her father.

'Well, that's my photo in the background,' she said, 'if that's what you mean?'

The woman flicked to the next picture, and all the various journalists, photographers and reporters were craning forward with their microphones and cameras, on their toes with anticipation. The crowd behind them broke out in a murmur as they wondered what was going on at the front. The next picture Bulma was shown was not so backlit. A woman was hanging from the arm of the man, her dress up around her armpits, her denim vest not covering much of anything, bra and panties on display to the world. The man was in a state of partial undress as well, his flame-shaped head of black hair surrounded with the double C of the Capsule Corporation logo like a halo. The man appeared to have a curling monkey's tail and the blue haired woman was…

'That's not me!' she said in disbelief. This hadn't happened! There was no way she could forget something like _this!_

'Are you denying any involvement in this stunt?' the reporter immediately pounced on her.

'Stunt? I…'

Oh, but as she thought about it, she _did_ remember something…Her legs dangling over space while she…while she…

The woman flicked to the next image, and the couple were highlighted by an advertisement for iced tea, top to tail and curled over each other, the unfortunate slogan beside them reading "Taste the Best, Forget the Rest."

It was Bulma's jaw that hit the floor.

'What am I looking at?' she asked weakly.

The woman from the Crier looked up from the photo her fellow journo was holding out and said coyly, 'I believe the French call it soixante-neuf,' and the press crowd lost it, snorting and sniggering behind hands and microphones. They were all in on it!

'This is a media ambush!' Bulma shouted, aghast, as finally some missing pieces of her memory started to slide into place, in all their stomach-swirling glory. She was really going to be sick now.

'Are you saying that this is a look-alike?' pressed the Nine O'Clock News woman.

'No comment!' Bulma snapped, raising her hand to cover her mouth so that coffee, bacon and egg didn't come hurling back out. She turned and tripped down the steps of the podium, crashing into the man that held her handbag, and realising she wasn't going to make it anywhere near a bathroom, she tore it from his hands and there, in full view of six TV cameras and twice as many photographers, she puked into her mother's handbag.

* * *

'No! Bulma, that was a limited edition, vintage Louis Buttion!' cried her mother as she watched this.

She and Vegeta had watched the train wreck of a presentation with increasing worry as the woman hurtled through it with barely a spark of her usual fire. Vegeta had erupted with an outraged 'What?' when she had quipped about containing plasma being easier than containing him. 'I am not contained! I do nothing I do not wish to, and everything that I do!'

Her mother clucked in sympathy. 'Of course you do dear, and we wouldn't have it any other way!'

Then the bizarre dog and pony came to a baffling end when some woman in the crowd started showing Bulma something on a screen and asking her questions about it.

'What are they talking about? Do you know?' the blonde had asked Vegeta. He shrugged, but he felt more uneasy by the second as he watched the colour drain from Bulma's face. And then she had bolted and regurgitated into a bag. Vegeta gagged in sympathetic reflex, but he held onto his own breakfast, and the scene on the television suddenly switched to the splashpage for the conference.

'Well, we apologise for that abrupt ending to the talk, but it seems as if Miss Briefs is suddenly indisposed,' said the commentator after a long moment of dead air. 'I can't help but wonder what the question was referring to, but I'm told by security that there was an incident outside the conference centre last night, as well as an altercation at the nearby Empire club. We'll be back with more coverage of the Sci-Tech Tomorrow's World Conference after these messages from our sponsors.'

'No!' said Mrs Briefs. 'You don't have any idea what they're talking about, do you, Vegeta?'

Vegeta raised one shoulder uncomfortably. Surely by "altercation" they didn't mean his treatment of the man dressed like a penguin outside the "club"? That surely didn't count as newsworthy, even on this boring planet. He hadn't even lifted a finger against the bulky fool. He'd just taunted him until the man made a grab at Vegeta, then he'd sidestepped him and used a flare of his aura to knock the over balanced man down the stairs. Too bad for the candy-ass if he'd broken his head out of the deal.

'Maybe there's some mention of it on another channel,' her mother said, hefting the remote. Vegeta hoped not, but he kept his seat from morbid curiosity. The woman clicked through various news channels, and at first there was nothing, but at the end of the ten am news broadcast for DNN they caught this article.

'Well, we're not sure what to file this next news story under, but it's safe to say that Capsule Corp heiress Bulma Briefs may be a chip off the old block after all, and we don't mean when it comes to crazy new inventions! We'll now cross live to our West City correspondent Doug Nut who is on the ground at the Sci-Tech Tomorrow's World conference, were Ms Briefs has just delivered a head-scratching address to crowds of on-lookers.'

The image shifted to a man with a microphone, standing in a corner of the same exhibition room they'd been watching.

'Good morning, Daliha! Yes, the Tomorrow's World conference got off to an unusual start this year as Bulma Briefs presented Capsule Corporation's latest product. Appearing rather worse for wear and disorientated, Ms Briefs stumbled through her presentation before attempting to bolt from the podium. Now, maybe we were just witnessing a case of stage fright, but when recalled for a question and answer session, Ms Briefs appeared hostile to questioning by one correspondent when the subject turned to the incident outside West City Conference Centre last night.'

An unflattering clip of Bulma flubbing her lines and then another of her shouting 'No comment!' and falling off the podium were played together. Vegeta frowned. He'd watched the whole thing, and the impression this news article was giving was quite different.

'Now, Doug,' said the studio presenter. 'Can you fill us in on this incident for those people that missed the early news?'

'Well, Daliha, not much is known at this point, but there is speculation that Ms Briefs was involved in some sort of high-wire publicity stunt outside the West City Conference Centre late last night – a stunt both in poor taste, and that appeared to almost go horribly wrong.' Vegeta sat bolt upright on the sofa. Surely not? His heart began to beat wildly, but he was transfixed as the reporter went on.

'Dozens of eyewitnesses reported that two figures floating in mid air while committing acts of lewdness. Though Ms Briefs initially denied involvement, when pressed she was visibly distressed and withdrew from the podium with no further comment.'

'Do we know if Bulma Briefs really was involved?' asked the stretched and painted woman Daliha.

'At this stage, no. Some here have speculated that it was the work of PR sabotage staged by rivals using a look alike of Ms Briefs, but adding to the argument against that, it's known that Ms Briefs was in the vicinity last night, drinking with employees at the nearby Empire club. Bulma was also seen leaving Empire with a man whose description matched that of the man involved in the stunt, although perhaps he was also a look-alike.'

'Thank you, Doug. Now, I believe we have some images taken by witnesses of the stunt. They're censored, but viewer discretion is still advised.'

Vegeta's eyes popped wide at the first image of himself groping the woman's exposed breasts, a fuzzy oval preserving the mystery of his royal ass crack while they floated right under the moustache of Dr Briefs's illuminated face. The gasp from the other end of the couch made him turn his head with jerky movements to meet the stare of Bulma's mother. Her mouth and eyes made three circles of astonishment. For a second he couldn't move for shock, and then the damn woman laughed; a delighted gurgle erupting from the shallows of her soul and rolling around her empty head before exiting from her cherry hued lips.

Like an electric shock, this jolted Vegeta into action and he tore upstairs so fast that paintings fell off the wall in his slipstream. He burst into his room, spied the pieces of paper on his desk and saw instantly that they would be no defence at all, even if he should get a chance to present them. He grabbed his armour and battlesuit and flew out the window without bothering to open it first. Shaking off shards of glass he ran into the spaceship, pulling on his pants as he went, only to see the hole in the hull still.

'Fuck!'

Kakarott could be here any moment to kill him. How was he going to get off-planet to avoid having his bollocks ripped off by the woman's childhood friend? Damn, he was just going to have to hide out on Earth!

He quickly rifled the stores on the ship for some capsules filled with food and tucked them under his armour.

Holy hell, had everyone on the planet seen him _in-flagrante_ with Bulma?

Damn the drink and the woman too!

* * *

It was evening and Bulma had subsided into the bath to weep and sip clear chicken broth, which was about all she felt up to eating. She had suffered a mortal wound to her dignity today and now she was a social corpse. There was nothing more to do but become a complete hermit, grow her armpit hair out and eat all the chocolate in the world.

After the utter humiliation of barfing in her mother's handbag she had been pulled aside, half fainting, into a kitchen by the conference staff, and an ambulance had been called. She didn't even object when the paramedics gave her oxygen and put her in a wheelchair to put her on the truck. Her father had held her hand and told her, 'Well, that wasn't a _great_ start to your public speaking life, but I'm sure you'll get better in time.'

The doctor at the private hospital had examined her and prodded her with questions and she had admitted to getting very little sleep over the last few days and drinking a lot of cocktails last night. The earth shattering diagnosis was 'exhaustion and alcohol toxicity,' i.e., lack of sleep and a very bad hungover.

'Rest, sleep, keep hydrated, don't try and eat anything until you're ready. Start with broth or soup. Take some aspirin if you want,' was his advice for 150,000 zeni.

When her father ushered her into a waiting hoverjet another throng of photographers had gathered to document her disgrace. She had curled up on the back seat, ducking her head. 'I've ruined my life, Daddy!' she'd cried.

'Now don't be overly dramatic, Bulma,' he'd said as they took off. 'You've just had a hiccup.'

'A _hiccup_?' she screeched. 'I guess you haven't seen the pictures yet.'

'What pictures?'

Bulma had pressed her lips together and shook her head.

'Oh well, I guess I'll just find out myself later.'

'No, Dad! I forbid you to go onto the internet!' she gasped in horror.

'What, ever again?'

'Please don't! Oh god…'

Once home she'd dragged herself to her bed and tried to sleep, but her nightmare wouldn't end so easily. The garbled mess of last night was coming back to her, confusing and with pieces missing. A drink with Vegeta. A kiss from Randy. Vegeta snarling at Randy. An argument with Vegeta. Crawling up some stairs. A cringingly clear memory of spanking Vegeta's butt and yelling 'giddy up'. She would have to ask him for the full story, but she was in no condition for anything so fraught as a conversation with Vegeta.

When her mother came to check on her (who was strangely and offensively happy in the face of her misery) she had asked her if Vegeta was training in Capsule 3.

'No!' she replied. 'He's run off!'

'He's…he's run off?' Nothing could be less heartening. Or more confusing.

'Don't worry, dear. I'm sure he'll come back.'

'Mom…don't watch the news today, okay?'

'I'm afraid I already did!' the woman said, leaping in a pirouette to the curtains and opening them. 'Up, up, up! It's such a brilliant day, no one can feel down on a day like this!'

Bulma begged to differ.

Now she sat in the raised tub, the perimeter of Capsule Corp visible through the window and the gaggle of photographers who were still camping on the pavement outside, sipping her broth and torturing herself by looking up articles about herself on her laptop. They ranged from the euphemistic to the lurid, the patently false to the disturbingly accurate.

'Representatives of Capsule Corp have stated that Bulma Briefs is suffering from exhaustion, and is recovering at home…' _Thank you, PR department._

'Rumours abound that Bulma has checked into 5 star rehab facility Empty Ocean after having her stomach pumped at the Westerly Private Hospital…' _No!_

'Close friends of Briefs claim that she had been _devastated_ by her recent break up with baseball heartthrob, Yamcha Bandit, which may have prompted her bizarre behaviour.' _Double no! "Close friends of Briefs" her ass!_

'Last night, after heavy partying at glitzy hang out Empire, Bulma was seen arguing and later getting intimate with _this_ mystery man.' There were various photos of her dragging a surprised looking Vegeta in Empire's front door, and more of her actually sitting on top of him while he looked over his shoulder in irritation at the camera. That photo was enough to prompt a memory of her telling him that she always knew they would end up together. She slapped her forehead. Had she actively hurled herself at a disinterested man who'd only turned up to deliver a message from her father? Had she really sold herself so cheap? Was that why he was avoiding her again?

'Bulma's brawny date appears to be the very same man involved in the high wire stunt and with an assault on a bouncer earlier that evening. Police are seeking witnesses…' _Oh crap._

'Capsule Corp employees reported that Bulma became intoxicated and emotional at the Empire club…' _They fucking what?_

'Bulma Brief's mystery man is rumoured to be a visiting foreign dignitary…' _Close._

'Bulma Brief's mystery man is rumoured to be a gold-digging live-in pool boy…' _No! NO! NOOOO!_

There were a lot of blurry and silhouetted photos of her and Vegeta in the sky, though it was very hard to see who it could be. More concerning was the picture of her dangling in her underwear which she'd seen captioned 'BB's Big Night Out Off the Hook!" The one that made her want to just die, which was trending all over the internet and which she would probably be remembered for the rest of her life, was the picture of her and Vegeta going down on each other with the slogan 'Taste the Best, Forget the Rest' next to them. A spokesperson from Golden-Pash Iced Tea thanked Bulma for the free brand refresher on Twitter, and it had been re-tweeted a million times and counting.

Perhaps worst of all was the fact that no one was talking about the Fuse-etta. Not the Science Network, not the science and technology branches of any of the big news outlets, not even the online gizmo rags. The absolute lowest point for Bulma came as she read a review that concentrated mostly of the confusing and poor presentation of the product. The writer felt they were left with "far more questions than answers" before the "spawn of a true technologist fled the spotlight, hungover and still dressed for the party. Bulma Briefs obviously doesn't take her work seriously, so why should we?" Bulma had cried until she had to stop for fear of being sick in the bathtub.

'Knock, knock, Sweetie!'

'Mom…what is it?' she said, purposely sounding as lacking in hope and life as she could. Maybe she should take up flower arranging and craft card making now, and be the daughter of her true parent? Maybe her mother could set her up with a rich bloke from the golf club so she could get on with staying at home forever and having children, now that she had just torpedoed her own science and business career with precision-strike efficiency.

'You've got a visitor!' her mother announced brightly as she let herself and someone else into the room.

'MOM! NO!'

'Oh, Bulma, don't cause a racket, it's only Yamcha!'

Bulma took a moment of silent horror to take in the sight of her apologetic looking ex-boyfriend before screaming at her mother. 'What the hell did you let HIM in here for? I'm in the bath for frick's sake!'

'Bulma! Language! And he's seen it all before – I don't see what the objection is.'

'Well, just because he's seen it before doesn't mean he gets to see it again.'

'Sorry, Bulma,' said Yamcha. 'I'll wait downstairs.'

'Why are you even here?' Bulma said, verging on snarling at him. 'Come to gloat at my humiliation?'

Yamcha looked surprised, as if he hadn't thought of that. 'No! But after all the crap on the news and the internet I was worried about you. And you didn't answer your phone. I don't know. I guess I thought you could do with a friend right now. We did agree to be friends, right?'

Bulma pouted her acquiescence. Here to be her friend. That was both touching and somehow even more humiliating. Tears welled up once more.

'You can stay,' she said. 'Mom, don't let _anyone_ else in the house, okay?'

'Okay, Sweetie. Unless it's Veget-'

'Mom!'

The mother turned to the man she had prematurely come to think of as a son in law and patted him on the cheek. 'Mind yourself, Yamcha; Bulma's got a new sweetheart these days. I didn't bring you up here so you could cause any trouble.'

'Sure I won't,' said Yamcha and pretended not to notice as Mrs Briefs added a pat on his backside as she moved past him. As the door closed behind the woman, Yamcha took a seat on the boudoir chair that Bulma's robe was draped over. Bulma looked at her handsome ex and then away out the window again. Now that they were alone she wasn't sure what to say, or if she even wanted to say anything. It was awkward. Perhaps he thought so too, because it was several moments before he asked, 'I called you about five times today. Sent a text too, just saying to let me know if you're okay. You started to freak me out me when you didn't reply.'

'You should have called the house phone, Yamcha. Did you see the footage? My phone didn't survive its Roman shower.'

'Oh, yeah.' He gave a nervous chuckle. 'Didn't think of that.'

More silence ensued.

'So,' said Yamcha eventually. 'You and _Vegeta_ , huh?'

'Yup.'

'I _knew_ it.'

Bulma felt the edge in his voice and looked up at him. 'I thought you were here to be a friend.'

'Yes, I am. Sorry. But jeez, you weren't subtle.'

She glared daggers at him. 'Neither were _you_.'

'Mmm…Fair call. Okay, thanks for the reminder of why we broke up. So tell me why you've been crying your eyes out and Vegeta is nowhere to be found?'

'How do you know that?'

'Pink puffy eyes, plus Vegeta's chi is pretty hard to miss when he's at home. I swear he broadcasts it like a territorial birdcall. He's not here. What's the story? Do I need to go round up a posse of Z-fighters to beat the crap out of him for you? Maybe eject him from this planet once and for all?'

'Don't be stupid,' she told him. 'He hasn't done anything wrong.'

'I find that hard to believe. Spare me any lurid details, but do you want to talk about what happened last night?'

'I don't…I don't even know for sure what happened. I do know that I drank _so_ much…So, so much, and the whole world got to see me be a complete mess.'

'And Vegeta?'

'He must know more than I, but he's not here to ask.'

'Huh,' said Yamcha. 'Running and hiding is not really the move of an honest man. Do you want me to go out and drag him back?'

'As if you could!'

'I could _tell_ him to come back.'

'Thanks, but I don't think he'd take that very well.'

'I don't really care about how Vegeta feels about it. I only care that he's hurt my friend by taking advantage of her in a state of stupor.'

'Yamcha…I'm pretty sure I _threw_ myself at him.'

'Uh. Well. He still should have known not to start something while you were drunk.'

'He didn't start anything,' she sighed. 'There'd already been a precedent set.'

'Oh. So that wasn't the first time?'

'No.'

'You two are…"dating"?'

Bulma snorted. 'No. Until last night we weren't even talking. Not that Vegeta is much of a chatterbox at the best of times.'

Yamcha grimaced. This conversation was obviously distasteful to him.

'Don't worry about Vegeta,' she told him. 'I'm sure he'll come back eventually. I think he's just embarrassed.'

' _Embarrassed?_ Are we talking about the same genocidal egomaniac here?'

She shook her head. 'He was watching the news with my mother this morning when they showed the…those… _oh my god_ …those pictures of us in mid air.' She blushed hard, and stared into the depths of her soapsuds as she said this. 'Mom said he looked embarrassed, and then he flew the coup. I don't really know what's going on between Vegeta and I, but I'm more concerned with the fact that I may never be able to hold my head up in public again.'

'Oh. I see. So you're not "devastated by the recent break up" from me, then?'

She looked up at him to see him grinning. 'Sorry, no. Somehow I've survived. However, I wish I was dead after today. What are the other Z-fighters going to think when they read the headlines and see the pictures?'

He scrunched up his brow in thought. 'I don't think need to worry too much. Goku and Chichi don't have a TV and I'm not sure they even know what the internet is. Tien and Chao-Tsu live in the wilderness, and sorry, babe, I'm not sure that they'd give two shakes what you were up to. Although screwing Vegeta might be an exception to that rule. Roshi's place hardly gets get any TV reception and he only watches videos from his collection anyway, so him, Oolong and Krillin aren't going to know. However, if they ever do come across those photos I think you're in trouble because they'll print them out and hang them on the back of the door in the lavatory.'

'Ewww! That's what I'm afraid of. That, and that I'll always be known as the "Taste the Best, Forget the Rest" woman and not a serious scientist and inventor!'

'The photographer deserves a Pulitzer prize for that shot,' said Yamcha, the twisted look of disgust back on his face. 'I'm never going to drink Golden Pash Iced Tea again.'

'Yeah, and I'm never going to be asked to talk at any conference ever again.'

'I don't know about never again. All the frenzy will die down. You know what the gossip pages are like. Tomorrow some former A-lister will climb out of a taxi on the strip with no pants on, or try and seduce a seventeen year old over instagram, and they'll forget all about "BB's Big Night Out".'

'Do you really think?'

'Yeah! Lots of people have gone on to have successful careers after leaked sex tapes and scandalous affairs and things like that. You made a mistake, Bulma. Eventually the public will stop laughing and forgive you for it.'

'Hmm,' she said, reluctantly cheered. 'I hope you're right.'

'Sure, I'm right.' He stood up. 'I gotta go pick up Puar from the train station. Are you going to be okay? I can come back if you want.'

'I think I'll be okay. Maybe. Though I've been in the bath so long I think my skin might all slough off the moment I get out. Do you want to stay for dinner? I won't be eating though - I don't think I could hold it down yet.'

'Jeez, Bulma! Exactly how hard did you hit the bottle last night?'

'Way too hard. I'll never drink like that again.'

'How old are you? Eighteen?'

She pouted at him. 'I had a rough week.'

'Yeah?'

'Things were falling apart. Work. Home…'

'You said Vegeta and you weren't talking. Were you fighting?'

She shrugged. 'No. I don't know. I don't know what's going on. I've been going out of my mind trying to figure it out. I don't even have anyone to talk to about it. Who am I going to call? Goku?'

He frowned as he headed to the door, and turned with his hand on the doorknob. 'I think I will bring Puar round for dinner. Keep you company.'

'Okay. That'd be nice.'

'See you soon then, babe. And sorry.'

'What for?'

'For not visiting you sooner.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: If you've never been as drunk as Bulma was, I advise you to keep it that way. If you have been as drunk as Bulma you already know you never ever want to do that again. Eurgh!


	5. Interruptus

The next five days slid by painfully slowly.

The morning after the conference opening Bulma checked Capsule 3, just in case Vegeta had come back and holed himself up in there, and instead she found a new skylight in the roof.

'Oh, crap.'

She knew that her father was busy with his own project, and dealing with the fall out from her conference appearance. Bulma was avoiding the mess she'd made, trying to pretend the world outside the compound didn't exist. The PR department had sent messages through her father asking her to deny her involvement in the stunt, but she refused to respond. It would be the easiest way out, and there was no way she was going to confirm it, but at the same time she was uncomfortable with lying, so she was pussyfooting around it instead. She decided to fix the hole in the capsule ship herself as an act of self-flagellation.

This proved to be slow work too, though gratifyingly difficult. The days passed and sometimes she managed to go for minutes at a time without remembering about "BB's Big Night Out."

'Vegeta, why aren't you here to answer my damn questions, when I need them?' she snarled at her welding torch.

'You do know that's not Vegeta, Pumpkin?' she heard her father's voice ask.

She flipped the mask up. 'Of course I know, Dad. I was just thinking aloud.'

'Oh, of course,' he said. 'I'm just letting you know that your mother and I won't be home for dinner this evening. It's our anniversary, so we're going out to Locke and Cashell's.'

'Yeah, Mom told me already. Dad, why do you always go to Locke and Cashell's every year?'

'Because it's the best restaurant it town!'

'Yeah, thirty years ago!'

'That's nonsense! They do the best shrimp cocktail I've ever had.'

Bulma made a face. 'You're only proving my point with that comment.'

'Well, maybe you should pack up the heavy engineering for the night, my girl. I wouldn't want you to have an accident while we're on the other side of town.'

'Dad, I travelled to a distant planet in a patched up alien space craft, and you're worrying about me welding?'

But she packed up anyway. They walked back towards the house together.

'When are you going to take a call from the PR department, Bulma?' he asked.

She groaned. 'Why? So they can give me lines to spout to the media? I never want to face another press conference again, let alone to cough up some story when I'm not even sure what the truth is.'

'They want to know what happened too. It makes it difficult for them to do their jobs if they get no information and no direction either.'

'Ur,' she grunted. 'Dad, maybe you should take me off the board of directors. I must only be harming the company right now. I mean, no one, not even the tech columns and science journals are talking about my fusion drive! It could change the world and no one cares because I had mid air… _hanky panky_ and puked in a handbag!'

'The product is a long way from market,' he reassured her. 'They'll be plenty of opportunities to bring the public round. A big splash with a prototype is not necessarily a sign of a winning product. I've have several disappointing reveals that turned out to be bestsellers.'

'But you never made as big an ass of yourself as I did. Let's face it, Dad – my business career is over!'

To her indignation, her father laughed. 'Oh, I don't know! I thought my career was over when I was linked to a famous stripper and notorious groupie, but I bounced back better than ever!'

Bulma stopped dead where she was and grasped her father's sleeve, spinning him around. She felt suddenly a little faint.

'Dad, tell me that was _before_ you met Mom!'

He laughed again. 'Bulma! What do you think I am? That _was_ your mother!'

Bulma's mouth sagged open, and her father turned again and hopped up the steps to the kitchen door. Her mother opened it to let him in, her shapely body squeezed into a sequined, strapless cocktail dress with a hem high enough to challenge most twenty year olds, let alone a woman of her maturity.

'Ahh…' said Bulma, her brain pushed offline by this revelation.

'See you later, Sweetie! Just call us if you need anything!' her mother said, and teetered down the steps in her high heels, breasts bouncing precariously up from the top of her dress, and stumbled accidentally-on-purpose onto the arm of her husband.

Suddenly, so many things made sense.

'Don't wait up for us, Bulma,' said her father, with a wink.

'Urgh,' moaned Bulma. She wouldn't _dream_ of it.

* * *

'Open the present!' gushed Bunny, nudging the large box towards her husband. It was wrapped in white paper with silver bows on it and a real silver ribbon tied around it. Dr Briefs swallowed the last dregs of his second pina-colada and pushed aside his leftover chicken l'range. He was feeling a trifle strange in the guts since his prawn cocktail. Some of the prawns had been slightly warm, but the ones in the middle were a bit frozen.

'I can't wait,' he said, lifting the box from the floor onto the table. Pulling the ribbon off, he lifted the lid and reached inside. Out came his hand holding a white mug. He turned it over and was mildly jolted to see his own face printed next his wife's, surrounded by a scrolling pink ribbon in the shape of a heart.

'Oh, hey!' he said, and Bunny giggled in delight.

'Do you like it?' she asked.

He supposed it was cute in a way, and he was happy she still loved him enough to put their faces on a mug together.

'Of course I do, dear! It's wonderful. I'll use it in the lab everyday.'

'Keep going then,' she said.

He frowned and reached back in the box and drew out…a lab coat. He unravelled it, and revealed the printed heart with his and Bunny's faces within on the breast pocket.

'Oh!'

'Do you love it?'

'Mmm, yes.'

'Keep going!'

He reached again into the box and came up with a set of ballpoint pens, all emblazoned with Bunny's chosen epigraph of their love. There was also a set of callipers, a laptop, a tape measure, a set of coasters and a moustache trimmer.

'There's so much of it!' he said, trying to mask his dismay with false delight.

'Oh, I know!' said Bunny. 'But I found this place that will print anything on anything, and when I started I just couldn't stop! It's just so delightful having all these personalised things. Look, matching bathrobes!'

'Oh…! My gosh…'

Lastly he pulled out a decorated calculator. Their faces and the ribbons were printed over the keys.

'I know you use your calculator all the time,' she said. 'Now you can look at the two of us while you do.'

'But Bunny, you know I have my lucky calculator that I always use.'

'Oh, I know! That _is_ your lucky calculator! I snuck into the lab yesterday and squirreled it away to get it printed while you were having a cigarette break! Do you love it?'

Dr Briefs moaned weakly over the defaced calculator. 'Yes dear, but please tell me that is the last?'

'Yes, that's the last until I go pick up the bedsheets I had printed tomorrow. They couldn't finish them in time. Now,' she clapped her hands together. 'Where's _my_ present?'

Relieved, the doctor picked up his own offering from under the table. It was in a flat cardboard box that said '25x40 3" Screw Sheets' on top. 'Ran out of time to wrap it,' he said to her puzzled expression as he passed it over. He was already smiling in anticipation of her delight. 'You inspired my newest invention. I was thinking of naming them after you.'

She opened the box and held up the flesh-toned rectangle of fabric. Her puzzlement didn't abate as she asked, 'Are these… _panties?_ '

'Yes!' he said. 'The most technologically advanced underwear in the world today! These are guaranteed to never fall down! As well as a firm fit all over, and a high degree of stretch for comfort in all positions, they have my ground breaking voice-controlled elastic in the waist and legs. They can even be password protected. They're ladder resistant, and also incidentally heatproof, flame retarding, stab proof and have anti-fungal properties. I'm thinking of approaching the military and seeing if they would be in the market for the new Mrs Brief's Briefs. What do you think of that name, honey? Honey?'

This is what he said, but what she saw was a giant pair of granny panties in the most unsexy colour ever, which would cover every scrap of womanly curve between her thighs and her belly button and had control-wear sturdiness. Apparently gone were the days when the lingerie her husband bought her was sheer and colourful and crotchless. What he appeared to be saying with this gift was that he wanted her to keep her old-lady pants on from now on.

'Bunny? Dear?' he said, leaning forward. 'Are those tears of happiness?'

'Trunks, do you hate me?'

'What? No, of course I don't! I love you very much! I mean, I made these especially for you!'

'Do you think I'm old?'

'Bunny, I couldn't think you're old! Well, you're not young anymore, but it's all relative, isn't it?'

'You _do_ think I'm old!'

'No! You'll always be young to me. You'll always be nine years younger than me, so if you were old, I'd be really old! Now what's this all about?'

Bunny got a hold of herself. 'Your panties are…'

'Yes?'

'Ugly.'

'Oh. I see. Well, these are only the initial prototype. I suppose there's room for improvement.'

Bunny checked the box to make sure there was nothing else inside and dropped the panties back in, quickly shoving the lid back on before the passing waiter could see the embarrassing things. 'Well,' she sniffed. 'I think I'd like to get home.'

'Oh, you don't want dessert this time?' he said, surprised and rather crestfallen. Maybe he should have gotten her a diamond bracelet or something as a back up gift, but too late now. He'd really thought she'd be overjoyed with the pants. He'd spent the whole week developing them. 'I thought you loved their devil's food cake?'

'Yes, well, I wouldn't want to get all fat as well as "not-young".'

'I hardly think one piece of cake is going to make a difference there.'

Bunny flushed red. 'Waiter,' she called. 'The bill, please!'

* * *

Bulma checked the caller ID on her new phone before answering.

'Hey, you.'

'Hi!' said Yamcha and then chuckled nervously. 'I'm just calling to say that I can't come over for dinner tomorrow, after all.'

Bulma was sprawled on the couch in only her underwear and grease spotted tank-top she'd been wearing under her overalls, and starting to make good on her promise to herself to eat all the chocolate in the world. Tonight's effort was a chocolate drenched, chocolate sponge pudding with molten caramel centre that she'd found in a tin on the top shelf of the pantry. It was a couple of years out of date, but to Bulma this only underlined the urgency with which it much be eaten. She now had it balanced on a plate on her stomach and she fed herself another spoonful while she glanced back at the period romantic drama on TV and held the phone with her other hand.

'Mmm,' she said, speaking around the sticky mouthful. 'What's more important that coming to see little old, hermetical me, huh? You got a date or something?' she teased.

'Well…yeah, actually.'

'Oh,' she said, momentarily undone by the reflexive spasm of jealousy and anger at the thought of Yamcha even looking at another woman.

He laughed again, and it sounded weak and apologetic and trailed off into silence. 'Hello, Bulma? Are you still there?'

'Yes.'

'Is that okay?'

'Mmm? Oh, yeah. Why wouldn't it be okay? That's why we broke up, wasn't it – so we could see other people?'

He sighed in relief.

A girl's voice suddenly cut in on Yamcha's end. 'That's us!'

'Oh, Bulma, I gotta go – they just called my order. I'll call you back in a minute.'

Just before he hung up she heard a baritone Italian voice shout out 'One large Capricciosa, one small Siciliana!'

'Are you at Pizza Pomodoro?' she asked, shocked, but the line went dead.

Pizza Pomodoro? On a Thursday night? With some other girl? Bulma's blood began so simmer at the idea of Yamcha wooing someone else with the same routine he'd used with her. And what next? Oh, she _knew_ what next! Was nothing sacred? Why, when he called back she was going to tear him another one!

She sat up, took a hearty swig from the bottle of rootbeer she'd had stuffed between the sofa cushions, and when the phone rang again she pounced.

'I think you and I need a little talk!' she said in a tone she hadn't used since she and Yamcha had broken up.

There was a pause on the end, and then a slightly surprised woman's voice replied, 'Oh, I couldn't agree more, Miss Briefs. I'm glad you finally feel well enough to take my calls.'

'Who is this?' Bulma demanded.

'Sweda Turnup, head of Capsule Corporation's PR department.'

Bulma mimed in silent scream and shook her fist at the gods of fortune before continuing.

'It's kind of late to be calling, don't you think, Sweda?'

'Actually, I was just calling to leave another message. The PR department is working overtime again tonight,' she said, curtly, and Bulma was reminded of her shame all over again. 'I didn't think you would actually pick up, based on previous experience, but now that you have I will just say what I need to say personally.'

'All right, then, say it,' said Bulma rudely.

'I'm going to talk straight, Bulma. It's what the board pays me for, to talk straight to the board and curly to the public. Finance is telling me that confidence in Capsule Corp is plummeting off the back of Friday night and Saturday morning's incidents. The fastest way for you to put this stramash behind you is to publicly deny it. Now, some damage has been done by this delay already, but we do have the excuse of your illness to cover us there. It's certainly the only reason I can think of that you would risk this damage to the company and not have stepped up to the plate already.'

Bulma bit her lip, fuming at humiliation of the school-ma'am lecture, but on another level she knew that what the woman said was true. She was harming the company. And while she was quite alright with retreating behind a wall of silence and sacrificing her own character to public speculation, her father had worked long and hard on his company. Was it really too much to utter a lie in her defence to protect her father's life's work?

'All right. I'll do it.'

'I'll call a press conference tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow? Holy crap, woman, I need longer than that to prepare! I have no idea what I'll say!'

'Leave that to us,' said Sweda, knowingly. 'I'll have a few drafts of statements sent over to you tomorrow. We can do the press conference the next day, when you're happy and rehearsed.'

'But you haven't even asked me what happened,' she complained.

'Does it matter?' said Sweda. 'I, and half the world want to know what really happened that night, but I'm not paid to fill gossip columns. If you think the truth of those incidents would make a better band aid than the statements we prepare then we can talk about that tomorrow.'

Bulma pouted, unseen. 'Fine.'

She hung up, just in time to hear her parents come in the front door.

'I'm going straight to bed,' she heard her mother say.

Bulma grabbed the remote and turned the volume on the TV up, took another swig of rootbeer and attacked the pudding with the fury of the justly damned.

* * *

The next morning Bulma arose late and sauntered down to the kitchen in her pyjamas. Her overalls were crumpled on the floor by the backdoor where she'd dumped them last night. It didn't seem worth getting properly dressed when she was only going to go back out to capsule 3. Her mother was staring out the kitchen window, a feather duster poised and forgotten in her hand as she was lost in thought. Bulma squinted at her mother, and wondered what could possibly be occupying her.

'You okay, Mom?'

'Hmm? Oh. Yes,' she said, barely stirred from her contemplation. 'Everything is fine.'

'Did you and Dad have fun last night?'

'Oh. Well. We've been up since very early. Your Dad ate some bad shrimp last night. He's still in bed right now, feeling very sorry for himself.'

'Urh, gross.'

Bulma took advantage of her mother's turned back to swap her pyjamas for her overalls. It was too damn hot to wear any clothes under the things at the moment. She'd sweated so much with a tank top and underwear under them yesterday that she'd dropped a screwdriver and a multimetre through her slick fingers.

'What's for breakfast?' she asked, hardly feeling the qualm of guilt that a grown woman like herself should still be having her mother preparing most of her meals.

'Oh, I don't know,' said the blonde woman. 'There might be some vegetables and some olives and pickles and things in the back of the fridge. I was quite unprepared - Vegeta nearly ate us out of house and home this morning.'

' _Vegeta?_ ' Bulma felt the breath go out of her in a rush that was part terror and part joy.

Her mother turned from the window, her sunny smile breaking free at last. 'He came back this morning, famished and quite rangy-looking, I must say. A trifle ripe smelling, too, but there's nothing wrong with a man smelling like a man, don't you think?'

'Where is he?' she said, slightly embarrassed that her voice sounded like air escaping from the squeezed neck of a balloon.

'Oh, I don't know! He went out towards the spaceship, but I don't know if he's still there.'

Bulma rushed out the door, and then forced herself to calmly stride across the lawn to capsule 3. She would finally have the answers to her questions! She would…she would finally look him in the eye and…have her heart either uplifted or crushed.

How had it come to this? How had she got to feeling so much for this man? It made no sense at all, as he gave so little in return for her substantial investment of time and care. She was like the addict at the pokie machine; feeding all her coins into the abyss of the slot one by one in the belief that the jackpot was _just around the corner!_

He wasn't in the spaceship. She looked up at her mostly completed repair and guessed that he would not have stuck around after seeing his precious training couldn't resume. She picked up her tools and worked for an hour or so before hunger drove her back into the kitchen.

Over the last few days, she'd built up an idea of why Vegeta had come looking for her at Empire that night. He'd broken the ship, then come to her father to get him to fix it, only to be turned down and told that she was not to be found either. And so he'd gone looking so that she could fix the ship instead. Typical. Typical self-absorbed Vegeta.

She ate some breakfast and wandered the house pretending she wasn't looking for him, then looked at the statements the PR department emailed though to her. They were all wishy-washy claims of illness brought on by overwork and vague accusations of PR sabotage by nameless entities. Bulma picked one at random, emailing back 'Option A." She went down to the lab to check the blueprints for the ship and passed her mother on her way back out. Her mother was wearing an apron, herding cleaning bots with a feather duster.

'What are you doing down here, Mom?' she asked.

'Well, the lab gets fairly dusty and filthy. I know you and your father don't seem to notice, and he hates it being cleaned up around him while he's there, so I thought I'd take this chance to give it a proper dusting and vacuuming while he's ill.'

Bulma regarded her mother suspiciously. 'You won't go moving the experiments, will you? Or cleaning up the electronics?'

'Of course not, Bulma! Unless the experiment is "how much mould can I grow in an abandoned cup of coffee." I haven't learnt _nothing_ after being married to a scientist all these years.'

'Okay, Mom.'

She left her mother and went back to the ship to continue working. It rather felt like Vegeta was avoiding her, but she knew eventually the desire to best Kakarott would drive him back to Capsule 3. He couldn't avoid her forever.

* * *

Bunny marshalled her troops through the various areas of the lab, battling dust and grime and installing air fresheners and potpourri where they were undoubtedly needed. Bulma's office was a nightmare, as she had expected, and though her husband's was a little better she grimaced at the sticky coffee rings on the desk and the crumbs between the keys of the keyboard. Fingerprints festooned the door near the handle and the ashtray had overflowed.

'Trunks, really!' she admonished her absent spouse. Closing the door to let the cleaning bots have at the dirty fingerprints she found a filthy lab coat hanging on the back of the door.

'Well, this is rather long past a good wash,' she said. Automatically she checked the pockets before she handed it to the bot that was towing the laundry basket. One pocket had a collection of screws in it and from the other she pulled out a handful of soft fabric.

'What's this, then?' she wondered aloud, unfurling the bundle.

It was a pair of lacy, black panties.

A pair of small, sexy, lacy, black panties.

A pair of small, sexy, lacy black panties, which were used.

And they weren't hers.

* * *

Hoping to find Vegeta at lunch, Bulma dragged herself inside the house again. There was no Vegeta, and no lunch. Her father sat at the table looking shaken and pale and thumbing a newspaper.

'Have you seen your mother?' he asked.

'Not for hours. Have you seen Vegeta?' she asked in return.

'No. Is he back, then?'

'According to Mom.'

Bulma sat at the table and they lapsed in the silence.

'I don't think we'll be going back to Locke and Cashell's again.'

'Good call, Dad.'

For half an hour they waited on the appearance of their respective love interests or food, but none materialised. Bulma flicked through her email on her phone and played the genius edition daily Sudoku, to make sure she was still super smart.

'Dad, did you try the house intercom?' she asked eventually.

'Yes. She didn't reply,' her father told her. 'Did you try calling Vegeta over the intercom?'

'No!' she scoffed. As if she'd want to look that desperate to see him! 'Maybe Mom's gone out for groceries. She did say that there wasn't much food in the house after Vegeta's epic breakfast this morning. Did you call her cellphone already?'

'Yes,' he sighed. 'I think she's let the battery run down again.'

Bulma got up and checked the fridge, just in case her mother had made some sandwiches for them, like she sometimes did if she was going to be out during the day. The fridge was depressingly bare. Stomach rumbling, she checked the freezer and pantry for edibles. There was frozen bread, and enough bits and bobs to make sandwiches, but Bulma felt put off by the effort it would take to do so. Instead she reached for the pot noodles and put the kettle on.

'Is there any of your mother's chicken consume left?' ask her Dad.

'No, I finished that off on the weekend,' she told him.

'Could you be a dear and whip some up for me? That's really all I feel like after that bout of food poisoning.'

She gave her father a disbelieving look. 'I don't know how to make it, plus I think it takes about twelve hours and a few chicken carcasses to make.'

'Oh. Just some crackers for me then.'

After the lacklustre lunch Bulma drifted upstairs again. She felt extremely low in spirit and couldn't face the spaceship again. Perhaps she would take a bath? As she passed Vegeta's room though she heard the shifting of a chair on the floor and she froze outside. So he was in there right now? Well, short of flying out the window he wouldn't be able to avoid her if her was, and she wanted answers!

She knocked on the door – a perfunctory politeness, as even if he didn't answer she decided she was coming in.

There was a pause and then a throat clearing before finally an answer.

'Come in, Woman.'

Bulma raised her brows. She wasn't sure how he knew it was her. Must've been a lucky guess. She opened the door forcefully and stepped inside.

Vegeta's room was plain. It was small and sparsely furnished, and had a tiny television set that should've been thrown out and replaced years ago. Of all the rooms Vegeta could have chosen when he had arrived at Capsule Corporation he had picked the meanest one, and stubbornly resisted all Mrs Briefs's suggestions that it be redecorated. Vegeta sat at the boringly styled desk in the hard wooden chair with his back to her. Perhaps the room reflected its inhabitant, she thought to herself crossly; small and mean and far from beautiful. And then he swivelled in his seat and stood, his eyes locking onto hers…She felt their sharp gaze like two pricks of black ice in her heart that raced down her body and turned to aching heat between her legs.

He'd been writing something in a notebook, and now he closed it as he faced her. How had she had such an uncharitable thought as she entered, that he was as unlovely as this bedroom? The clean white t-shirt and the soft grey sweatpants he wore made him look heaven-sent in her eyes. He looked lost, haunted, _cute_ in the way that a mongoose is before it fights a snake to the death. And then he opened his mouth.

'Have you finished repairing the spaceship, yet? I haven't been able to train for days.'

'Is that the way you greet me? No I haven't finished! Where have you _been_ for the last six days?'

'In the mountains.'

'Hiding?'

'Absolutely not!'

'It sure seemed like it!'

He pressed his lips together in annoyance. 'I was meditating. What does it matter where I've been, anyway? I gave you ample time to fix the equipment, but you're not done yet.'

'Equipment which you broke, you troll! I don't know how you _accidentally_ blast a hole in the side of a space ship, so I'm going to conclude that you sabotaged yourself, Your Little Attention-Seeking Highness!'

'Well, there are a _lot_ of things you don't know, so we shouldn't be surprised at that,' he sneered back at her.

'Oh! Nice! And speaking of not knowing things! We need to talk, Mr! I have some questions about recent events!'

To her surprise he shut up for a moment, freezing on the spot. He cleared his throat again.

'What? Do you mean…?' he trailed off uncomfortably.

She cocked her head, immediately amused by his awkwardness. 'Do I mean what?'

'The other night.'

'And what happened the other night?'

He stared at her like she was crazy and blushed. 'You _know_ what happened the other night! You must know what I am referring to! Unless all your evenings are filled with such extraordinary nonsense that it doesn't stand out in memory.'

Now it was Bulma's turn to blush as she admitted. 'Actually, that's what I came to ask. Honestly. I mean, I remember some of what happened, but I was so drunk I don't remember how or…why?'

Now Vegeta looked appalled. 'If you're accusing me of something-'

'I'm not accusing you of anything,' she said. 'Other than being a prick, but we'll get to that.'

He scowled at her and shook his head in disbelief. 'I knew you were drunk, but to be so inebriated…you are a reckless woman!'

'Yeah, I know. We've been through this. If I weren't so reckless I wouldn't have shagged you on the lawn last week. Moving past that – _what happened?_ How did we get from your insulting rebuffal of me, to amorous aerial antics? Were you just suddenly in the mood or what?'

He frowned. 'Rebuffal?'

'Yes. Your _rejection_ of me,' she clarified, dropping to a hissing tone to indicate the way that rejection still burned her like acid.

'When? I believe I was open to your…offer, but _you_ never made good on it.'

'What was that scathing reply to my note about, then?'

His frown suddenly lifted with understanding. 'This again? Yes, you mentioned something about that the other night. But I never saw or replied to any note.'

'What?' Bulma was utterly confused. 'Well then, who did?'

'My guess is one of your ridiculous parents.'

'My…?' Oh, come to think of it, the handwriting had looked an awful lot like her mother's. Then her face screwed up slowly until she was gurning like a champ as she recalled the contents of the note and the reply. What this implied about her parents sex life didn't bear thinking about. 'Euw! Euw!'

'Euw, indeed,' Vegeta agreed.

Finally she looked back at him, starting to get over the distaste and realising…that the man she had wanted was within reach after all. Even after the disappearing act she had pulled on him he had hunted her down and…

'So, that still leaves me with _some_ questions about the other night,' she said with a faint blush of happiness. 'Er…so what happened exactly?'

Interestingly Vegeta blushed too, deeply, and looked down at the ground before risking another glance at her.

'You want a blow by blow recounting?' he said, and then had to clear his throat.

'A detailed outline should suffice.'

He sat down on the end of the bed, keeping his eyes low. Bulma couldn't help grinning at his discomfort. As awkward as this was for her, Vegeta seemed to be shallow-frying in embarrassment.

'Well, first I arrived at that gods-forsaken place you called a nightclub…'

'Yes. And why did you come?'

'Because the ship was broken. And your father was worried because he couldn't find you.'

Bulma considered the juxtaposition of these two statements and wondered if it could be surmised that Vegeta himself was also worried about her. 'Okay. Go on.'

'Your father was correct to worry, as you were deep in some trouble, letting some giraffe-esque bottom-feeder all over you in a pit of writhing, smelly humans.'

'Oh,' she said, but what she really meant was _Oh fucking hell, what?_ Now it was her turn to be uncomfortable. 'Randy, right? What…what was I doing with him?' Too late the remembered the kiss and brought her hand to her lips.

Vegeta followed the movement with his eyes. 'That's right,' he said.

She had kissed Randy in front of Vegeta? What a disaster! She was mortified. 'I'm sorry! I shouldn't have let that happen. It's not like I'm interested in the guy…'

Vegeta gave her a dark look from under his brows and she trailed off before she made things worse.

'I remember now,' she said. 'You threatened him, and then I ran after you. We had some kind of an argument in the lounge bar.'

Vegeta nodded.

'Then what?'

'We came to partial agreement on the fact that you are an idiot, and then you tricked me into ingesting beverages of excessively high alcohol content. When my guard was sufficiently lowered, you took advantage, suggesting…you'd like to have more sex with me, right away. We had problems leaving the place, due to annoying humans with cameras, so we went up to the roof and I flew off with you. Not patient enough to wait until we were actually in private before attacking me, you began your assault right there is the sky over the street.'

'Ha ha,' said Bulma, trying to make it like a joke. Surely it would be funny one day? 'Why didn't you stop me?'

'You were insistent!'

'Well, why didn't you take us somewhere out of sight?'

'I thought I had!' He looked up at her resentfully. 'I was not thinking straight, on account of the "whisky" you plied me with. I went up high into the sky, but during the course of our…play, we drifted down almost to the street.'

'Oh, boy,' she sighed, covering her face with her hands.

'As you have no sense of properness, you have no idea how humiliating it was to see the photographs on that morning news show!'

'No, actually, I do have a _really good_ idea how humiliating it was! You've been hiding for six days. I've been dodging journalists and photographers in the meantime.'

'My only comfort is that nearly everyone I know is dead, so the cannot witness my shaming!'

Bulma let that one lie.

'Okay, so it was a really humiliating night for the both of us,' she said after a few long moments of silence. 'Where do we go next?'

'I was trying to find the way home when you came to your senses again,' he said, mishearing her question. 'You made us stop at some street vendor for things called "kebabs".'

Bulma's eyebrows shot up. 'I did?' Unlike the other hazy happenings of that night, she had no memory of that at all.

'Yes. And when we got back here you…were eager to finish what we'd started.' Vegeta hung his head.

'What?' she said, utterly blindsided. 'And did we?'

He nodded without looking up. 'More or less.'

'We had sex?' she gasped. 'We had actual genital-to-genital sex six nights ago?'

'You were by no means so horrified by the thought at the time,' Vegeta mumbled.

'I'm not horrified, Vegeta! Well, yes I am - but it's because I have no memory of it whatsoever!'

Then she was also horrified by the realisation that six days ago she would have just been entering the fertile phase of her cycle. It hadn't been such a concern to her after their encounter in the garden because she's known she was safe from pregnancy at that time, and besides, he hadn't actually come _inside_ her. But six days ago?

'To be fair, it wasn't that memorable anyway,' he told her, hiding his face in his hands.

'What does _that_ mean?'

'I mean, you got me drunk. I had problems…finishing.'

'But you _did_ finish?'

'Um. More or less. By that time you'd already fallen asleep again.'

'Arh!' she cried. 'I don't suppose we used a condom?'

'A what?'

'Oh my god! Vegeta! How can you have thought this was a good idea! You already said you knew I was drunk!' She had had sex – really bad sex by the sound of it, and totally unprotected – and didn't recall it at all!

He stood up again, his face getting red with anger this time.

'And I already told you that _you_ got _me_ drunk! It was your idea, and I said it was a bad one at the time, but you insisted you were sobering up.'

'Oh, I strong-armed you into having sex with me, did I?'

He stepped to the desk and opened the top drawer, fishing out some papers. 'No. But you were so determined, you drew up an "iron-clad" consent form and signed it.' He slapped the top sheet into her hands and stood there bristling while she read it. Or tried to.

 

_SATEMENT OF CONSTeNT_

_I' Bulma Breifs of ~~sund~~ sound body mind, herby note my fulll consenent to have intercorse (hot SEX) with Pince Vegeta of lla the Saiyns (rawr!) on this night of (fuck wot if the date? Dose it matter?) July. All liabililty fro this action accept by the undersined._

_Sihgned_

Bئف-

 _Witnnesss_  
V.

 

'You idiot!' she cried. 'How could you have taken this to be consent given of sound body and mind? I didn't even fucking spell my own name right!'

'Because of this!' he shouted back, forcing the next sheet of paper into her hands. This one was even harder to read, laid out in cramped but weaving handwriting she didn't recognise.

 

_AKNOLEDGEMENT FO COMTRACT_

_Vegeta, prine of All Saiyan, scorge of theNothen glaxay, Luitennant firstclass, , acknodge conset for "Acts" given by female "Bulma" and except no ~~libili~~ crap that from comes fo it. So fuk off "Z-twats"._

_V._

_Wit._ Bئف-

 

'Huh,' was all she could say.

'Do you believe me now, when I say I was also impaired?'

'Yup.'

Cooling off, he took a step back, and Bulma raised her shamed face to him. Was it safe to say that they were both equally embarrassed by this?

'I suppose you're going to say you would never have done such a thing sober?' he said.

She shook her head. 'No. I would totally do it sober. And I wish I had, because we had sex, and I don't even remember it. That's not fair!'

'Not fair?' he repeated, frowning slightly again. 'What would be fair then?'

Bulma considered his question carefully and then felt the corners of her mouth lifting with deviousness, but she still blushed a little as she said, 'I demand a rematch. That last one didn't count.'

Vegeta's frown was blasted off his face. His eyes roved all around the room, from the window to the door to the corners, as if expecting someone to be hiding there, listening. He took a small step closer.

'Do you mean…?'

'Do I mean, what, Vegeta?' she coaxed, grinning wider.

'Have…sex again?' He seemed to be having trouble with the words. His eyes dropped to the front of her overalls as if checking she still had a body, and wasn't just teasing him.

'Yes. Want to?' As she said it, heat ignited under her skin. Where his eyes trailed she imagined she could feel his gaze touching her, the soft whisper of it sliding over her breasts, down her belly to the apex of her thighs, then back up again, along her throat to her eyes. Vegeta's dark alien gaze was questioning, but undeniably keen. Consciously or not he was leaning towards her.

'When?' he said.

'Now?' she suggested.

His breath caught in his throat and his lips parted. Oh man, she wanted to kiss those lips so bad.

'Where?'

She vaguely indicated the room. 'Why not here?' Vegeta looked as if he'd never have thought of that in a thousand years. She managed not to laugh at his incredible tension he was exhibiting, but it was making her tense too. He another stiff step forwards.

'I guess that would be all right,' he said, his eyes still darting nervously to the door and back. 'Um…'

'What?' she asked him softly, feeling infected by his awkwardness. He still standing a foot away – close enough to cause her skin to thrill with anticipation, but not close _enough_. Jeebers, was he just going to stand there and make her do all the work?

'Let us…proceed,' he said, and Bulma felt her whole face turning red with embarrassment, as did his. This was not even in the same universe of sexy as the wild night in the garden or any of her fantasies on the subject. Yet still, she was incredibly turned on.

' _Proceed?_ ' she said, lifting her eyebrow. She stepped forward until their chests bumped. 'Come on, then.'

His hands rose, hovered indecisively, then settled on her shoulders. He looked up into her eyes, and Bulma was scorched. It was too intense – Vegeta, this close, in the daylight! There was no safe layer of darkness or intoxication between them now, and she was overwhelmed by how _here_ he was. How physical. He wasn't the distant grumpy alien that slunk around the house – he was the man she'd just offered to have sex with that she really didn't know that well yet. His breath touched her lips and she started to tremble with nervousness. Maybe he felt the same way, because he froze while she almost stepped back. Unable to hide that she was almost panting with excitement, she decided the only way was forward and leaned in to kiss him.

He jerked in surprise as her lips closed on his before settling into the contact. She had to remind herself that he was new to kissing to stop herself from wrenching away again at his baulking. His lips moved against hers cautiously and curiously. Really, if this got any more awkward it was going to compete with her first time with Yamcha for the crown of Most Self Conscious Screw. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, pushing herself against him, and almost jumped like a virgin to feel his excitement furled in the front of his pants press against her own crotch.

With a grunt of surprise from Vegeta, the magic finally started to flow. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, sweeping them down her sides to press against her back and gather her in at the same time as he opened his mouth to her, letting her venture in before plundering her mouth in return. Their hands travelled, a shier exploration than the other times. She was aware this time of the consciousness behind his touch; each part of her his hands and mouth touched, she was aware of being experienced. Each breath of his on her cheek, each hitch of surprise in it as he canvassed new territory of hers or she of his made her almost lose her own breath with waves of gratification and pleasure.

And she was hard pressed to get enough oxygen as it was - he kissed and kissed, not hesitant at all now, but revelling in it like kissing was his art and calling. She found herself leaning back into his arms as one wrapped around her back and the other crept down over her ass, pressing the dusty, scorched-marked and generally filthy overalls between her cheeks with his questing. He held her tighter, and she felt her sneakers start to drag across the floor towards him, her weight lifted from them, her thighs opening as he bent her back a little further. He was only the same height as she was, but somehow he handled her in a way that made him seem like a much bigger man, and she began gasping against his lips.

Maybe it was that though there wasn't much to him, every inch of him was put to good use?

'Aa!' she moaned against him, pulse pounding all over her body as she realised her teasing of him yielded something that was surely about to overwhelm her. What was she going to do about contraception now? Ask him to stop a minute so that she could run to her room for a condom? He didn't even know what one was! She should have suggested her own room, because now she was on this rocket ride she didn't want to get off.

She lost her grip on the back of his neck and her fingers trailed over the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and down the front of his chest. Her feet left the floor and she gave up all pretence that she was remotely in control of this encounter. A foreign sensation trailed up her thigh, and she bucked against him in surprise, squeaking aloud. He broke their kiss before she realised it was his tail. Drawing his head up a few inches, he looked down at her with shining eyes and pink cheeks, trying to catch his breath just as she was.

'Having second thoughts?' he asked. He looked entirely serious.

'No!' she said. 'Just remembering that you're not human!'

'Good,' he said, and his tail pulled at her leg, hitching it up around his hip so he could grind against her warmth. 'I think I might blow this house up if you leave me high and dry again.'

'Oh, there's nothing dry about it, right now,' she replied, her voice almost shaking as she wriggled herself against him. Vegeta's eyes dropped to the front of her overalls – funny how none of her imaginings about this moment had involved her manky work clothes – and holding her now with just one arm and his tail, he grasped the zipper and slowly pulled it down. As the V of the zipper grew wider and slipped off the peaks of her breasts, Bulma was surprised to remember that she had absolutely nothing on underneath. Vegeta looked rather surprised too, and for a moment he was quite still as he took in the double faceful of boobie. And then he lifted her higher, his arms dipping into her overalls around her naked back and his face pressing into her chest with a muffled growl that sounded a bit like 'Oh Holy Gods!'

Bulma half laughed, half screamed with sensitivity as his tongue rolled over one rigid nipple and took it into his mouth. She wrapped both legs around his hips now, and bounced against him, letting the overalls drop from her shoulders and hoping he would throw her onto the bed soon so they could finally go at it.

She rucked up the front of his shirt and hauled it up over his head, forcing him to stop for a second and free himself one arm at a time.

'Haaa…' she breathed, seeing that which she had been admiring for so long from a distance right next to her and this time in the daylight – bronzed perfection dropped from heaven to Earth. Vegeta followed her gaze down to his own body and then looked back as her face, confusion turning suddenly to amusement.

'Does the sight make you want to roll over and beg to be petted?' he asked.

'What?' she said.

'Or maybe you'd like to weep for the fallen angel?'

'What are you talking about?'

'That's what you told me the other night.'

Bulma's mouth came open to deny it, then stayed open in horror. Oh no. Oh no! Vegeta the lonely, exiled angel seeking comfort on Earth was one of her favourite "bedtime stories" to herself.

'I didn't,' she said.

'You did,' he said, grinning.

The blush that engulfed Bulma now was the hottest yet. Curse her big, drunken mouth! 'Well…you said that you wanted me from the first moment you saw me! That you'd never wanted a woman as much as you wanted me!'

Vegeta's eyes flew wide. 'No, I didn't!'

'Oh, yes you did!'

'When?'

'You know when,' she retorted. 'When the moon was full.'

'No, I…I…' His scoff turned to an open-mouth grimace as he realised he remembered. But he came back from this loss of face, swinging. 'Well! _You_ said that you'd "fallen in love" with me, whatever that means!'

They stared at each other. They'd both thought they'd been a playing a game with their cards held close to their chests. To find out that they'd both been playing open handed was somehow the most embarrassing revelation so far. They were hesitating in a most compromising position, both wondering what to do now.

 _I lose_ , concluded Bulma. Even though they had both unwittingly admitted their towering attraction to each other, it was Bulma who had confessed love, obviously way prematurely.

'Dum, du dum, du dum, Inspector Gadget, dum, du dum, du dum, dum dum, ooh ooh!' sang Bulma's pocket into the silence. Vegeta almost dropped her.

'What the hell is that?'

'It's just my cell's ringtone for my Dad,' she said. 'Don't worry, I'm not going to answer it.' She waited while the jingle played out (Go Gadget, go!), and then decided to be the brave one. She reached out and stroked Vegeta's face. His eyes his eyes narrowed suspiciously before drifting shut for the barest moment as her fingers past.

'It's true,' she said. 'I find you super hot. You find me super hot. For some reason I really like you-'

'Even though I'm a "prick"?'

'-even though you're a prick. So I don't see any problem here.'

Vegeta put on a more business-like expression. 'Okay then. I admit I _do_ find you extraordinarily diverting. But that doesn't mean you can expect me to be some soppy, whipped "boyfriend" type thing after this,' he said. 'I've seen how you humans are.'

'No,' she said truthfully. 'I'd never have expected that from you.' There was just a twinge of something in her heart that regretted having to say that.

She kissed him, and he joined in, the flames starting to whip high again. Bulma indulged herself, feeling out the hard, smooth lines of his abdomen before sliding one hand down between them, inside his pants to haul her prize up, hot and throbbing in her grasp. Now she had him moaning as her hand worked him and he abandoned her lips and struck out down her throat, aiming for her breasts once more. To her surprise he stroked one of her breasts even as his tongue rolled over the other – one arm and his tail were enough to still hold her snugly against him.

 _Good god,_ Bulma thought, as she moaned her approval. _Every man should have a prehensile tail; it frees up more limbs to pleasure the women!_

As he shuffled them towards the single bed by the window, her phone beeped annoyingly as a text message came in and then fell out of the pocket as her overalls dragged on the ground.

'Let me down a second,' she told him, and when he did she kicked off the overalls, leaving her naked but for her sneakers. Quite frankly, she felt that leaving her boots on was no way to be having sex, so she bent over to try and hurriedly unlace the hi-tops. Vegeta's hands and tail trailed over her bare back to settle on her hips, clutching them in a rather possessive manner as his breath came out in a hiss at this provocation. One hand dove past her buttocks to cup her pink, blossoming pudenda.

'Haa!' she said, distracted entirely from her laces as his fingers glided back and forth, spreading her wet heat all over her. She dithered, just revelling in the sensation of it and wondering how long she could milk untying her shoelaces and pressed herself back against his hand. Next she felt his hand withdraw and a blunt instrument replaced it, nudging her lips open from behind.

'Really?' she gasped. 'Like this? The bed is right there!'

'Then you really shouldn't have presented me with such an invitation,' he replied, throatily.

'Bulma!' she heard her father calling out in the corridor. They both froze. Dr Briefs's hurried footsteps passed right by the door and he called out again. 'Bulma, where are you?' As his footsteps retreated a little, Vegeta pressed forward and Bulma kept her sigh as quiet as possible. The only sound was their ragged breathing as he slowly filled her. His arms slid around her to cup her breasts and his tail wrapped between her legs, tickling her clit teasingly with its furry tip.

'Oh,' she whispered, as the stimulation came from everywhere at once. She reached out to steady herself on the edge of the bed because she felt she was going to need it. 'Oh, oh, oh…'

'Uhhh,' Vegeta replied, pulling back for another run. She could feel his thighs trembling against hers, trembling with the tension of not banging her hard and fast already. She had a little pre-orgasmic spasm of pleasure at the thought.

Her cellphone rang again, the silly jingle from the old cartoon show making them freeze once more.

'Bulma?' they heard her father cry, rushing back to Vegeta's bedroom door, following the sound of the ringtone. He knocked frantically. 'Bulma, are you in there? Can I come in?' He sounded upset.

'Buttfuckinghell!' hissed Vegeta.

Bulma stuffed one fist in her mouth to stifle a shriek of dismay before answering.

'Yes, Dad, but don't –' the door opened '- come in.'

Bulma screamed.

Vegeta screamed.

Dr Briefs screamed and stumbled backwards, covering his eyes and slamming the door behind him.

'Dad! I said, don't come in!' she shouted.

'I'm so sorry, Poppet, I thought you meant yes, it's okay to come in!'

'I'll fucking kill him!' said Vegeta. The man's footsteps could be heard retreating again.

'No, you won't,' said Bulma, struggling to push Vegeta off, even though every inch of her body yearned to stay. 'Something's wrong!' His tail refused to let go, but she managed to crouch down and swipe up her fallen cellphone anyway. Checking the last text she saw it said _Where are you, Bulma? It's an emergency!_

She checked Vegeta, whose mouth was hanging open in horror, like a starving man watching a buffet dinner thrown in the rubbish.

'Please don't blow the house up,' she said. 'I've got to go see what's happened. We have plenty of time for this later, I promise!'

He let go with his tail but didn't say anything, just watched every movement in horror as she pulled her overalls back on and rushed out the door.

As it closed behind her Vegeta devolved into a howl of frustration and temper. 'Not again!' he snarled. Was living with Bulma to be just one endless tease?

He tossed himself angrily on the bed with no more company than his trusty box of Kleenex.

Outside, Bulma ran down the curved corridor until she found her father sitting on the top step of the stairs. He looked up at her, and to her shock she saw that he had been crying.

'So sorry about that, Bulma.'

'Don't worry about that now, Dad. What's going on?'

He held up a pretty greeting card with a blue cat running along a blue roof with a blue starry sky behind it.

'It's your mother,' he said. 'She's left me.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Cliffhanger! And it's a double cliffhanger, because you also don't know when I'll have time and inclination to update this story. Just to tease you, the next chapter will be called Baby Bunny.


	6. Mom's on the Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Pow! I'm back a mere two years after the last chapter! So sorry, guys. So, a quick recap may be in order! Feel free to skip if you've got a good memory:
> 
> First, while under the spell of the midsummer moon, Vegeta grew his tale back and seduced a willing Bulma, but all went awry when Vegeta spied to moon and turned into a giant ape. After a little lateral thinking and good time was still had by all, and the next morning Bulma was keen to continue the fun with a much more reserved Vegeta. To that end she wrote a note, which immediately went astray, throwing Bulma and Vegeta's budding romance off the rails and shrouding the entire Brief's household in confusion.
> 
> Consumed by chagrin at what seemed to be Vegeta's rejection, Bulma was quickly pulled into a drama surrounding her latest invention that was to be unveiled at the upcoming Tomorrow's World Technology convention. Fixing her fusion drive just in time, she and her team hit the town hard. Breaking the ship, Vegeta hit the town too in order to find her. Confusion and then enlightenment ensued and Vegeta discovered that he was an easy drunk.
> 
> Six days later, Bulma and Vegeta reunited. Vegeta had been hiding out because he was embarrassed about having their drunken mid air tryst caught on camera. Bulma attempted to become a hermit after vomiting in a handbag in front of the press at her disastrous fusion drive unveiling, but one Capsule Corp PR employee is determined to drag her back into the fray to defend the company's reputation. Meanwhile, Bulma discovered from Vegeta that there was more to that night than she could actually recall, but was game to "have another go at it" stone cold sober. Their mildly awkward encounter was prematurely interrupted by Bulma's father bearing the distressing news that his wife had left him - their marriage was apparently one terrible anniversary gift and a tragically misidentified pair of lace panties away from splitsville!

It was nearly eleven at night. Dr Briefs, Vegeta and Bulma sat around the kitchen table. Bulma picked at the Thai food they had ordered in, unable to do it justice. She exchanged frequent haunted looks with her father, who had nibbled a single curry puff before giving up.

'You going to eat that?' asked Vegeta, already reaching for the doctor's plate with Pad Thai going cold on it.

'No, knock yourself out, my boy. I'm still not feeling all that good.'

A phone rang. It was Bulma's, and she dropped the thing in her haste to answer it. It bounced off the edge of the table before she manged to get it to her ear.

'Yes? Clarice do you...'

Her father was half out of his seat in anticipation.

'Oh, no,' said Bulma, crestfallen. 'Damn, well, thanks for returning my call anyway. And you've heard nothing from anyone else...?'

The stricken look on her father's face made tears well in her eyes. She glanced away to where Vegeta was glutting himself on greasy noodles. She and her father may have let the issue of dinner slide in their worry, but their houseguest was not in the mood to suffer along with them and had demanded to be fed large quantities of food as he was accustomed. Since seeking them out to complain about his empty stomach he'd barely looked at Bulma besides to scowl his disappointment at her.

Clarice, her mother's friend, prattled into her ear.

'I wish that she _had_ come to me. I can only imagine what's happened to set her running...well, actually I can imagine quite well, Trunks being the man of tastes that he is - Oh, your father I mean! So sorry, Bulma - I quite forgot who I was talking to-'

Bulma cut her off.

'No, Clarice, it's quite all right, but I think that _you_ don't know what you're talking about in this case. My mom has just jumped to the wrong conclusion about something, and we just want her home so that we can explain. We're really worried about her.'

'Of course, Bulma. I promise, the instant I hear something I will let you know she's all right and pass on your message.'

'Thank you.'

Dr Briefs collapsed slowly into his seat again.

'Are you sure there's no one else left to call?' asked Bulma, feeling her spirits sink with him.

'We've already called all her friends I know how to contact,' her father replied. 'Has she used her credit card yet?'

Bulma sat down and checked her open laptop again. Hacking credit card companies was illegal, but this was a special case, she felt.

'No. Nothing. But who knows, maybe she's paying with cash because she knows we can track her by credit card purchases?'

Her father raised his brows at that, and Bulma had to admit the remoteness of her mother knowing any such thing.

'Well, still, she might have a horde of cash that she's paying with.'

Trunks nodded, only slightly reassured.

They had already tried calling all the major hotels in the city in case she had checked in, but so far had no luck. West City was very large - they could spend all night calling Bed and Breakfasts and motor lodges and not cover a fraction of the accommodations in the city. Bulma didn't like the thought of her mother out there, fending for herself anyway, even if it was at a five star hotel. It was hard to tell how equipped Mrs Briefs was. She had many bags and clothes, and neither Bulma nor Dr Briefs were acquainted well enough with either to know how much she'd taken. She could have taken one of the many stores of capsules dotted casually about the house. They weren't even sure if she had a car, as neither of them knew where she kept her car capsules. Bulma and her father were left feeling a little ashamed at how little they knew of her habits.

The doctor picked up the pretty little card and read it again.

_Trunks, you've broken my heart._

_I know you think I'm silly, and maybe I have been not to have seen the signs until recently, but today I found the evidence of your affair in your lab coat pocket. A pair of lacy, racy, women's underpants! No doubt you've been carrying on with one of your young lab technicians and laughing at your poor, stupid wife behind her back, but a man who doesn't know how to do his own laundry leaves himself open to discovery!_

_You have taken me for granted. I know that you think me dull and old now. Perhaps you feel me too faded or too domestic to be fun, but many would beg to differ! I won't crawl away from you - I intend to fall on my feet and hit the ground running. I had a life before you, and I will have one afterwards too._

_I am leaving you, Trunks. Don't bother trying to find me. Once I'm settled I will send for Bulma. I'm not sure how these things work, but I want to avoid a drawn out custody battle. I hope we can come to some agreement to share our daughter between us. Please assure her that this is nothing to do with her. Her Mommy still loves her very much._

_Yours Never More_

_Bunny._

The pair of panties that accompanied the card were now in the wash basket. Her father had sworn that he wasn't cheating on her mother and said that he'd assumed the panties he'd found in the garden were her mother's. With a sinking feeling, Bulma had asked to see them, recognised them, and then had to chokingly admit they were her own. She slightly ill now at the thought of what her father might've done with her underwear while toting it around in his pocket for over a week.

Vegeta put down the bowl he was emptying into his face, chewed a few times, looking between the unhappy faces of the other two, swallowed and then scoffed.

'The woman is an adult, is she not? If she doesn't want to be found, why bother looking for her?'

'Don't be so heartless, Vegeta!' Bulma scolded. 'Of course we're going to look for her. She thinks my Dad cheated on her! She's heartbroken!'

'Ugh,' grunted Vegeta in vague dismissal, but he didn't argue the point. 'Well then, according to her own words, when she's done "settling" she'll send for you, and then you can explain the misunderstanding.'

'I can't stand her thinking so badly for me even for a moment!' exclaimed Dr Briefs. 'And we've barely spent a night apart in thirty two years. How will she get on?'

Bulma was reminded of all her own fears; of her naive mother at the mercy of strangers, defenceless and walking at night in five inch heels, facing the realities of life outside Capsule Corp with only her woolly-headed wit to sustain her...

'My Mom is...a very trusting person, Vegeta. She could be taken advantage of - she's quite innocent, you know!'

Vegeta snorted disparagingly. 'Like I said, she is an adult. Checking into a hotel is probably not beyond her.'

'He's right,' said the doctor. 'She's probably fine for now. She'll probably call tomorrow, and if not, we shall continue the search.'

* * *

But the next day Mrs Briefs didn't call.

Bulma cooked breakfast for Vegeta and her father in her stead - an ordeal that took more than an hour and only garnered her grumbles about her slowness rather than thanks.

 _How does Mom cook so much food every morning?_ Bulma wondered, wiping the sweat from bending over the stove from her brow. She was not a bad cook herself when she could be bothered, though that wasn't often. Vegeta hectored her into finishing the repair on Capsule 3, which she started to, but had only done a couple of hours work before she was summoned, grouchily, for lunch by a sullen Vegeta. She found her father sitting at the kitchen table, smoking - something he was no longer allowed to do by her mother.

'Geez, are you men completely helpless?' she said as she slammed cupboards open and closed. 'Are your hands just for show?'

'Poppet, you know I haven't the first clue in the kitchen,' said her father getting up anyway and stubbing out his cigarette. 'What do you want me to do?'

He took the loaf of bread she was holding from her, and Bulma saw that his hands were shaking. She instantly felt like a bitch.

'Don't worry, Dad. You just sit down.'

'I hope you don't expect _me_ to cook,' said Vegeta. 'That was never part of our deal. Besides, I don't think you'd enjoy my style of cuisine.'

'What do you- oh, wait! Never mind.'

She made as much food as she could in half an hour before slamming the tea towel down and announcing that she was going out. The situation couldn't go on.

'What about the repairs?' asked Vegeta immediately. 'What about more food? I'm still hungry.'

'What about my mom, huh? I'm going out to see if I can find her. Maybe Dad will help you out.'

'Where are you going to look, though, Pumpkin?' asked her father. 'We've got no leads.'

'I don't know!' she replied in exasperation. 'The mall? Her hairdressers? Her favourite bakery? It's worth a try!'

'What about dinner?' asked Vegeta. 'If you were this slow with breakfast and lunch you'll have to start soon.'

'For Heavens sake, what am I? Your servant? No! If I don't find Mom you can order pizza, but I'm going out!'

'Pizza?' said Vegeta.

'I'm coming with you!' said her father, standing up. Satisfied, Bulma turned and strode towards the hallway door.

'How does one order pizza?' asked Vegeta.

Bulma turned suddenly, catching an expression of delicate anxiety on Vegeta's face that crashed straight into a scowl the moment he saw her looking. Shaking her head she turned back; his helplessness, or uselessness to put it less charitably, touching a faint nerve of sympathy.

'It's easy.' She grabbed the phone from its cradle in passing and plonked it in front of him. 'You just find the number and dial it in here.'

'What number?'

'For your favourite pizzeria.'

Vegeta raised his eyebrow.

'Okay, for _my_ favourite pizzeria.' She turned the laptop, quickly looking up the contact details on their website. 'Just dial this number...into here on the phone.'

Vegeta looked back and forth between the digits on the screen and the dial pad on the phone. 'Are these even the same script? That number isn't even on this "phone",' he said, pointing out the character in question.

'That's not a number that's a dash, Vegeta.'

'What is a dash?'

Bulma frowned. Vegeta had managed to learn to read, but perhaps some numeral literacy was still missing from his general knowledge? 'Nothing. Just ignore it. Press the numbers in...' She trailed off as she watched Vegeta meticulously matching digit to digit and entering them on the phone. Her father fidgeted by the door. She made apologetic eyebrow wiggles at him and said 'Don't worry Dad, I'll just be a minute,' and her father turned, wandering out towards the front door. She turned back to Vegeta.

'Okay...now when you're ready you press the talk button.'

'Which?'

She pointed it out and he pressed it.

'You're going to order pizza now?'

'Yes,' he replied and raised the phone to his head. 'Send pizza,' he ordered. Then he looked at Bulma. 'Is that it? It's just making a buzzing noise.'

'No, you have to wait for someone to answer, then order.'

'Ciao, Pizza Pomodoro, what we do for you today?' sang a thickly accented voice from the speaker.

'Send pizza,' repeated Vegeta, raising the phone again.

'Very good indeed, Signore. What you like?'

'Pizza!' repeated Vegeta. 'Lots of it. Send ten, and then if I find it satisfactory I will order more later.'

'Sure, sure. What kind, eh?'

'What kind?'

'You like, eh, Margarita? Siciliana?'

'What? What are those? Never mind, I don't care. Just send pizza.'

'We cannot send what we don't know. What do you want, eh? We cannot just send what we feel. We send you the most expensive, no? Then complain, the customer!'

'What?' repeated Vegeta. 'Do you not speak properly like these other humans? What is wrong with you?'

'What is wrong with me, huh? Che cazzo, why you phone and insult me, eh? I pay the taxes, I make the pizza, you phone and insult me!'

'Vegeta!' cried Bulma, reaching over him for the phone.

'I wasn't insulting, I was just asking why you are inarticulate to the point of-' But he stopped as Bulma wrenched the phone from him.

'What is wrong with _you_ , pezzo de merda?' the irate chef was growling down the phone.

'I'm so sorry!' cried Bulma. 'Paolo, is that you?'

'Si. And who are you?'

'It's Bulma Briefs.'

'Ah, hey,' he replied, taking it down several notches. 'Bulma? I not see you for a while. Are you too busy being with il stronzo I just speak with?'

'Er, yeah,' she said. 'Sorry about him. He's from...way out of town.'

'Nn,' said the Italian, in acknowledgement but not forgiveness.

'Hmph,' said Vegeta, getting up from his chair and turning his back on the whole conversation.

'Look, Paolo, can you just send a selection of ten of your most popular pizzas? You're got my credit card on file, right? My friend may be ordering more later today, and he has my permission to put that order on my card too. Is that okay?'

'Yes, yes, it is good,' said Paolo unconvincingly. 'It will be done. I prefer in the future deal with you though. I not see you since the baseball player...But well. He had nice manners.'

'Hmm. Well, thank you, and again, sorry for the rudeness of my friend.'

She hung up and suffered one last baleful gaze from Vegeta before she rushed out the door after her dad. Her phone rang as she was getting into the convertible.

'Hello?'

'Well, hello, Miss Briefs. It's Sweda Turnup here.'

'Who?'

'Sweda Turnup, head of public relations,' the woman stated loudly. Bulma groaned, not very discreetly. Her mind was on a single track right now – find her mother.

'Hey, look, Sweda, can I call you back? We're kind of having a family emergency here right now.'

'Well, don't leave it too long-'

'I won't, bye!' Bulma hung up.

* * *

'Picking up where I left off,' Mrs Briefs repeated to herself like a mantra as she stepped out the front door of her new apartment building. Or rather, her old apartment building. She had come back to this neighbourhood yesterday for lack of any other ideas about where to find a place to stay. It was a hundred year-old stone building, with large, high ceiling apartments, but last time she'd lived here the rooms had been cheap and disreputable, and the building itself moulding and peeling; dark with city-filth on the outside and yellowed by decades of cooking, smoke and habitation without recourse to a mop or new layer of paint on the inside. Yesterday she had almost walked past its pale marble facade without recognising it, but when she did she found the happy coincidence of a sign in the window saying "Apartments to Let". The rooms she had been shown around were even her own old ones, but now they were light, airy, modern and minimalist with the occasional touch of a restored vintage feature here and there. They also cost twice as much to rent in a week than Bunny used to pay for a month. When she had lived here last, she and her roommate had decked it out with every bohemian comfort they could think of - second hand oriental rugs, a worn chaise lounge, skeins of fabric lashed to the light fittings, drifts of oversized cushions, and incense burners to cover any lingering herbal or bodily odours. Oh, the fun they used to get up to on that cushion pile!

'Isn't that a bit steep for a place in the red light district?' she'd exclaimed to the woman who was showing her around, and then covered her lips as she considered. She really had no idea what rent was these days. Maybe this was normal?

'Red light district?' repeated the building manager in horror. 'This is in the centre of an urban rejuvenation project. It's been many years since this was the red light district - that's moved further uptown, you know.'

She had inspected the steel benchtop, the white panelled, silent-closing draws and the integrated dishwasher of the kitchen and asked, 'Does the place come with cleaning bots?'

'Cleaning bots?' the woman had said, her eyebrows struggling not to show their owner's astonishment. 'No.'

It was a long time since Bunny had kept house without the aid of cleaning bots. She would miss Ernie and Louis - they were good company as well as useful pets - but they were hers only by marriage, and that was over. She would also miss their menagerie of delightful strays, Vegeta not the least, but she knew she wouldn't be able to afford to keep them. She was determined not to claim or use anything of Trunks's; not his money, not his credit card, not the things she had bought with his money, not his robots. She would prove her own worth and independence apart from that man. She had been on her own path to success before he'd interrupted it with his endearing befuddlement and kinky bedroom antics. Maybe she should have guessed that he wouldn't stay faithful to her? It wasn't the first time that their marriage had been challenged by infidelity, but it was the first time to her knowledge that it wasn't _she_ who had been tested. She wouldn't have minded if only he had told her and let her join in! But no, he had hidden it from her, and the only possible meaning she could take from that was that he was in love with someone else.

Her eyes filled with tears again, and before she could stop herself she was bawling loudly. It would be rather poetic to return to the very place her marriage had plucked her from.

'I take it you don't want the apartment, then?' asked the manager.

'Oh, no, I'll take it,' sobbed Bunny. 'It's perfect.'

She had paid the first month's rent and bond by cheque - which the building manger hardly knew what to do with - from her own personal bank account. She still had her modest assets from before she married, and left untouched all the time since, they'd run up a tidy bit of interest. Still, it wasn't nearly enough to live off for any length of time, especially with this rent to pay.

'Got to get me a job, then,' she told herself and she examined herself in the mirror the next morning, with a tiny puckering of her cherry-glossed lips. Maybe she could get her old job back along with her old apartment?

'You turn that frown upside down, Bunny!' she scolded herself. 'No one wants to hire a down-in-the-dumps!'

She had plastered on her biggest smile, put on her biggest false eyelashes, her tallest high heels, her tightest boob tube, and now she was standing on the doorstep ready to face the world bravely.

'Picking up where I left off. Ready to get back on the horse!'

She began trotting down the street towards her last place of employment, but when she got there found that the Pink Palace was now a large Korean BBQ restaurant so she kept going. She passed many of her old haunts and was shocked to find them all transformed. Even the massage parlour now offered therapeutic and sports massage only. Bunny had gone quite a long way before spying the first strip club down a side street, the cyan neon light announcing "Le Moulin Bleu", with an additional helpful sign, "GIRLS -" in pink for those that didn't get it. The "GIRLS" sign guttered and didn't show any sign of coming back to life, but it had barely added to the ambience of the shabby alleyway anyway. Bunny recognised the place from back in the day, and it was a far cry from the grandeur of The Pink Palace or the Champagne Lounge, but it had a small "Girls wanted, new or experienced" sign in the window, and that's what Bunny needed right now.

'It's a stepping stone,' she told herself as she opened the door on the empty club.

A man was behind the long bar, stocking the fridge, and an older woman was sweeping the floor. The place was small - just the one long bar down one side, a few booths on the other and down the back, and the stage with a single runway between them.

'Tony!' said the woman in a loud, hoarse voice when Bunny walked in.

The man behind the bar, presumably Tony, popped his head up.

'And what can I do for you, love?' he addressed Bunny. He was bald and burly and pushing fifty, and probably the owner, so Bunny smiled sweetly at him and crossed the room to the bar, extending her hand. The man took it, his bland expression perking into something a little more interested as he took her small hand in his and shook it.

'My name is Bunny...' At the last second she trailed off, having not made the decision yet whether to use her married name or go back to her maiden name.

'Good morning, Bunny. I'm Tony Capper, co-owner. To what do I own the pleasure?' He held her hand altogether too long, and Bunny giggled at his obvious flirtation.

'Well, I hear you need girls, new or experienced. So here I am!'

The man's brow was touched with scepticism. 'And are you new or experienced?'

Bunny laughed and then said throatily, 'Experienced,' managing to make the word sound filthy.

Tony grinned and laughed a little himself at that. 'I _bet_ you are. But we're not looking for bar staff right now. We're looking for dancers.'

'It just so happens that I _am_ a dancer!'

'Is that right?' He frowned and looked her up and down again, but while he was puzzling another man came out from the door to the side of the stage.

'Is that fridge full yet, Tony?' he called.

'Leave it out, Vinny,' shouted Tony back at him, then said more gently to Bunny, 'My business partner, Vinny Garr.'

'No wonder we're in the red when you're always chin-wagging on the job,' muttered Vinny.

'God, Vinny! Stop with the bad-mouthing - we've got a potential employee here.'

Vinny's demeanour changed instantly, rushing towards Bunny with the interest of a bloodhound on the scent, but when he got close to her he reared back.

'Gah! You gotta be kidding! We can't put some old broiler out on the stage!'

Bunny pressed her lips together. Surely he didn't mean her?

'Excuse me, I am not _old!_ '

'I'm going to concur, Vinny,' said Tony. 'This charming young lady can't be a day older than thirty five.'

Bunny felt a stab of horror at being mistaken for so old. Thirty five? No, surely she didn't look more than twenty nine?

Vinny was approximately the same age as Tony, but with slicked back, greying hair, and a sour, shrewd expression on his face.

'If you wanna go on chatting her up, go ahead, but we're not hiring her,' he warned. Then he looked at her. 'Lady, even if you are thirty five, we don't hire girls that old.'

Bunny felt a dark blush of mortification steal over her. Surely not...Surely they weren't going to turn _her_ down?

'Do you know who I am?' she choked out.

'I doubt it matters, but no.'

'I am... Bunny Hopper!' she said, plumbing for her stage name and the words had an effect.

'Bunny Hopper!' whispered Tony in awe.

Vinny's eyes widened, but he didn't look any happier. He surveyed Bunny with an even harder eye.

'She's a legend!' prompted Tony.

'I know who she is.'

'No,' said Tony. 'You can't be her! You look too young.'

'No, no, it's me,' Bunny assured him. 'I've just kept myself in good shape with a bit of aerobics and quality skin care, you know.'

Tony rushed around the bar and appeared next to Vinny and took her hand again. 'Bunny Hopper!' he gushed. 'I saw you when I was just a young'un. Seeing you on stage was what made me want to own a strip club! What happened to you all those years ago? You just disappeared off the scene.'

Bunny smiled, her spirits a little revived by his reverence.

'I took a few years off to have a baby.' She had never bothered to work out exactly _how_ many years.

'I remember, and if you're Bunny Hopper you're even older than I thought you were,' said Vinny.

Bunny was offended all over again. 'Well, if you gentlemen _aren't_ hiring, I'm going to try my luck elsewhere,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She turned, and behind her back she heard Tony arguing her case.

'Jeez, don't be so harsh, Vinny. I think we should let her audition.'

'What for? To tarnish memory lane with stretch marks and saggy boobs?'

Well, that was on top! Bunny whirled. 'My boobs are _not_ saggy!'

'God, Vinny, you have zero charm, you know that?' said Tony. 'What's the harm in letting her audition?'

'The cost of my precious time.'

Tony raised his eyebrows.

Vinny huffed. 'Fine! Go get the PA on, and you,' he pointed at Bunny. 'Get on stage.'

Encouraged by this reversal, Bunny hopped on the spot and clapped her hands. Vinny gave her a withering look, but Bunny wasn't worried. Vinny was a tough nut to crack, a bit like Vegeta, but she was sure that a gooey centre lurked below the hard exterior. She was sure that deep down, Vinny already loved her.

With this thought she took the door that Vinny came through, sought and found the stairs that would take her up on the stage and waited for the music. She checked her clothes, reassuring herself of what she was wearing and then gave way suddenly to a rare attack of nerves.

'Oh my,' she whispered to herself. It had been so long since she'd been on stage - she hoped her aerobics and the occasional private show for Trunks had kept her in good enough form to pull off her old moves. 'Oh my, oh my!'

Then the beat started and Bunny stiffed her spine. It was a heavy bass beat, and she vaguely recognised it from hearing it on the car radio a few times – some spunky, modern songstress who was not a bad dancer herself. Well, Bunny had never danced to it, but she was giving it her best shot.

She strutted out on the stage.

It was unnerving, stepping out in front of an empty bar. Maybe a room full of people would have been more unnerving for a beginner, but Bunny had done _that_ lots of times. She'd only ever auditioned once before, for her first gig.

There was the pole, mid stage, like an old friend there for her support. She wouldn't give in to that urge so quickly though – this was the time to stand on her own two stilettos.

Well, one thing about this modern music was that it was very easy to move to – her hips were practically dancing by themselves. Tony was wearing a misty expression as she reached up and pulled out the pins that held her hair up. It cascaded down in a wave of blonde foam, and the music provided a handy break. She stilled, with her head hanging and let her hair fall in front of her face, and when the beat dropped again she flicked it over her shoulder, leaping back into action. Her hands itched to curl around some dumbbell weights, but she reminded herself she was dancing, not aerobersizing, and instead let her hands worm their way around her body.

Oh yes, it was all coming back to her now! She stopped at the front of the stage, with her feet wide, and squatted half way, swaying from side to side as her hands did her work. Vinny was still looking sceptical, so she concentrated on Tony who looked at her with something close to the admiration Trunks usually showed when she danced for him...What a sham that admiration obviously had been! Maybe his new fancy lady had sexier moves than she did? Or maybe they did calculus in bed together instead? She had never shared Trunks's interest in maths and all that bunk, and maybe he was going outside their marriage for that kind of stimulation? Who knew? Perhaps their whole marriage had been a lie?

She snapped out of it, realising she had zoned out for a moment.

_Back to it, Bunny!_

Plastering a big smile on her face again, she rocked her hips forwards, thrusting her pelvis towards her spectators a few times. It was not the done thing when she was young, but she should move with the times, and well...it felt quite naughty. She giggled.

Then, back to the pole. She spun around it a few times, but no, the skirt was going to have to go. Turning her back on them she wiggled her derriere at them while she quickly undid the buttons down the front of her denim skirt, and then, whoosh!

In one swoop she pushed her skirt to the floor, legs straight and backside pushed out. Behind her she heard a whistle of appreciation. Bunny smiled. She was wearing a pink thong that matched her heels. Swaying a bit, she pumped her legs before stepping away from the skirt, and she couldn't resist peeking between her legs to see how her audience was getting on. Oh, good; even Vinny had lost his sour expression!

Hooking her leg around the pole she swooped around until she was hanging off it, back arched. Oh, she had missed this! Planting her hands on the stage she pushed off from the pole and walked-over, sliding straight into splits.

_Oof! I'm a bit stiff!_

She rolled onto her stomach and up onto her knees, shoulders low while she pretended to grind on an invisible lover for a few beats. She prowled the stage on all fours like a panther in heat, and then rolled over as if asking for her belly to be rubbed, and writhed at the end of the stage. Oh, yes! It was all just play acting, and lots of fun, just as she remembered it. Then she rolled to the pole and pulled herself up by it, stepped back and then launched her herself up it, going higher this time to give herself more height to play with. Now, could she get her boob tube off while spinning, or was that asking for trouble?

Two minutes later, as the song wound down, Bunny stood a little breathless and buck naked at the head of the stage. Tony clapped and Vinny looked stunned. Even the cleaning lady had stopped to watch.

'Hell, woman, what's your secret?' she croaked.

'Just keeping fit and a positive frame of mind!' she replied brightly even while she was trying not to show her pain. She had pulled something doing the splits – she probably shouldn't try that trick again for a while. She turned to her jury. 'So, do I get the job?'

To her disappointment, they didn't leap at the idea. Tony and Vinny looked at each other – Tony raised his brows, and Vinny rolled his eyes.

'Well, I suppose the goods haven't shifted _too much_ in transit, but that doesn't mean we've got our next up and comer. Been and gone's more like it.'

Bunny bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. She thought she'd done well, considering how long it had been.

'Don't be an egg, Vinny,' said Tony. 'She could dance the pants of Marissa.' Then he paused, considering. 'She could literally dance the pants off Marissa! I'd pay to watch that! Anyway, we need dancers. We're got no decent feature dancers lined up until Jazz comes on at ten. Daisy hates working the stage, and Joyce loves it, but she's boring as boiled spuds whenever we put her up there.'

'We could call up Kitty just for tonight,' suggested Vinny. 'She can always do with the extra money.'

'Kitty's having her wisdom teeth out today, so no. Besides, you hate that junkie.'

Vinny made a face. 'I do, it's true.' He rubbed his hand over his face and looked up at Bunny's assets, still on display. 'She's got some pretty decent game, but I can't put her on prime time.'

'So we won't,' reasoned Tony. 'Move Chasity up from the opening slot – she's coming along well enough – and give it to Bunny.'

 _Opening slot? Ouch!_ But then again, she was the new girl all over again. _It's a stepping stone_ , she reminded herself.

Vinny covered his mouth with his hand, obviously torn.

'We'll bill her as a living legend,' said Tony.

'Shut up, Tony, you're making it worse,' said Vinny, and sighed. 'Okay, love, you've got a job.'

Bunny bounced on her platforms and beamed with relief.

'Get your kit back on, and I'll take you out the back to sign the contract. Now, we're hiring you as a feature dancer, so you need to be reliable! _Someone_ has to be up there stripteasing from opening to closing or else we're just an overpriced topless bar, and customers demand their money back. You'll have to be back here at five thirty, ready to start at six. We pay you a thousand zeni per half hour set, you do two sets a night, plus you get to keep your tips and pocket all the cash from any lap dances you do, and a forty-sixty split on any private dances you do. Back here at five thirty - got it?'

Bunny nodded brightly.

'Good. Just get a wax or buy a razor between now and then, okay?' he said, waving a hand at her crotch. 'It's not the bleeding eighties anymore!'

* * *

Bulma and her father drove to all Bunny's favourite haunts and asked about her, but not the baker, the hairdresser, the golf club hostess or the attendants at her favourite designer shops had seen her in the last two days. In helpless desperation they ended the day walking aimlessly about the Queenside Mall just on the off chance she was in there.

'Oh, god, Mom, just call!' Bulma pleaded at her phone. To her great surprise, it rang, but then she saw that it was from Sweda Turup and sent the call straight to voicemail. Then she made a custom rigntone for the woman – silence. She'd ring Sweda when she was good and ready.

Her father sighed and collapsed into a chair at the foodcourt. He looked grey.

'Do you think we should go to the police?' she asked him.

'No, no,' he said. 'They wouldn't do anything for us yet. She's not officially a missing person for forty-eight hours.'

'We've looked all over the city though!' she fretted. 'I'm so worried about her! What if someone grabbed her off the street? You can't run in the kind of shoes she wears! Or a dodgy guy offered her a lift...'

'You don't give your mother enough credit,' he chided her. 'We _haven't_ looked all over the city – only her favourite spots that we know about.'

'Well, where else would she go?'

'Blasted if I know. Your mother's mind is a mysterious place; she has her own way of thinking about things, and we're just not thinking like her.'

'Are you saying we should try and think like her to find her?' Bulma stared into the distant crowds of shoppers. Think like her mother, think like her mother...How? When she imagined the inside of her mother's brain she imagined puppies, soap operas, gardens, make up, cupcakes and recreational flirtation. How did that add up to an operating manual to a person's thought processes?

'Good luck with that,' her father chuckled, reaching for his pack of cigarettes from his lab coat pocket again.

'Dad, you can't smoke in the mall.'

Dr Briefs looked up and around, as if realising where he was for the first time. 'Well, in that case, I could do with something to eat while we wait for your mother to raise her head. I'm starting to feel quite light-headed.'

'I guess,' Bulma replied, looking around at the options and feeling guilty for wanting to eat when her mother may very well be on her last dollar. It was getting close to dinner time.

She had forgotten all about Vegeta.

* * *

'Ti ucciderò, pezzo di merda!' growled the voice in gentle promise of violence. 'I know where you are!'

'Then come here, and when you do, bring pizza so I can eat it after I kill you!'

'Ha ha! Si, I bring the family, you get my meaning? I have _big_ family! It is the end…for you!'

Vegeta hung up on him. He'd never been intimidated by an Earthling, and he wasn't about to start now, but if he'd been a lesser being he was sure he'd be rattled by the lunatic at the pizzeria. He didn't even feel like pizza again, but that's all the options the Woman had left him with. She hadn't even left him her own "phone number" to call if he needed her!

He stared around the empty kitchen again, and rifled the fridge on last time. It was bare, but not completely empty. What was this beige stuff in a squeezy bottle? He squeezed a large dollop onto his waiting tongue, mouth salivating in anticipation. At first he thought it had no flavour beyond a vague vinegariness, but after he swallowed, sensation blossomed up the back of his throat into his sinuses - burning, burning! Oh, gods, it was that stuff that he'd made the mad woman swear not to put on his sandwiches ever again – _cream of horseradish_.

He rushed to the sink, hawking up as much of the poison as he could and then lapped water from the tap, but it didn't stop the explosion going on in his sinuses. It burnt itself out fairly quickly though, leaving his eyes streaming and his dignity destroyed. Was this what life was going to be like in this house without Bulma's mother? He had no idea she had been so integral to everyone else's health and comfort.

He could go another day without decent food, but after that he'd be too weak to train properly.

_Damn it, then. I'll find her myself if I have to!_

He went out through the hall to the front door, hesitated, and then went upstairs again. A shower and a shirt were probably a good idea before venturing out amongst the humans of West City. Too bad he'd be flying, but their tiny minds would just have to deal with that.

* * *

Bulma decapsulated her convertible in the mall car park and took the wheel without much enthusiasm. Her father got in the passenger side looking even more miserable.

'I don't think that burger is sitting right,' he said.

'Where to now?' Bulma asked. 'Do we just go home?'

'There's nothing more for it,' he said.

She turned the key, and then the car bounced as if someone had shunted their own into them.

'Hey!' she cried, turning to look behind her, and then fell back against the steering wheel, setting the horn off, because there was a man in the back seat!

'Vegeta! What the hell are you doing here?'

Vegeta stared back, arms crossed, looking as cool as it is possible to look wearing a navy polo shirt and a pair of front-creased chinos. Urgh! She would have to take him shopping sometime because he had no clue at all.

'You are still looking for your infernal mother, I presume?'

'Yes,' she replied harshly. 'So whatever your problem, it might have to take a backseat.'

'My problem is also your mother. As you senseless humans have failed to locate her, I have decided to join this search to expedite the return of the woman in question.'

'What, really?'

Her dad rubbed a finger under the bridge of his glasses – a sure sign of him experiencing an emotion that made him uncomfortable. 'Thanks for your offer of help, my boy, though I'm not sure what more can be done today.'

'My powers of tracking are far superior to yours,' replied Vegeta. 'I've already picked up a few hints of her trace in the city.'

'What?' said Bulma and her father at once.

'I can _smell_ better than you,' Vegeta clarified.

Bulma grimaced. She always forgot that – Goku could scent things as well as a dog, so it stood to reason that Vegeta could too. 'Is that how you found us?'

'I followed the mingled scent of you and your vehicle exhaust, and when I got closer I could sense your chi.'

'Wow,' she looked at her dad quickly. 'With Vegeta we could actually find her!'

'Lead the way, my boy!'

Vegeta leapt from the backseat, making the car shake violently again, and jogged to the exit of the parking lot, hesitating and looking back at Bulma as if to say, 'Come on!' so she drove after him as he turned down the street, heading into the heart of the entertainment district. Vegeta ran while they drove slowly behind, holding up traffic a little, but Bulma didn't care. Vegeta could run fast, but he slowed at times, and even stopped and turned back a few times to examine a railing or a tree. At one point Vegeta stopped short and doubled back, taking a corner, then waited for them to do a U-turn and catch up.

'You're going to make this take all night!' he complained before taking off again. His head turned this way and that, and then he went into a newsstand. Bulma stopped the car outside and watched Vegeta sniff along the racks of magazines and pick up one copy of House and Garden to sniff deeply, oblivious to the gawping of the other customers. He'd never looked more alien.

He came back out.

'We're getting closer.'

He headed off down the street again, turning once more onto one of the older streets in the city, and as they past the grand marble façade of an old building, he stopped and returned to the porch.

'Here. She's definitely been here, and recently.'

'That's amazing!' cried Bulma.

'It wouldn't be so easy if your mother didn't wear so much damn perfume.'

'My word!' said her father, getting out of the car. 'I think this is Bunny's old apartment building!'

'Mom lived here?' said Bulma. It sure looked swanky, so she was not that surprised.

'Yes, but it was a dump back then. What's this in the window?'

Vegeta stood aside so the doctor could read the sign on the inside of the pane next to the doors.

'"Apartment to let".'

Bulma was way ahead of him; her fingers already dialing the number into her phone.

'Hello? I'm calling about the apartment to let at the building on Tennyson Street.'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' said the woman on the other end. 'I just let it yesterday afternoon. I must have forgotten to take the sign down.'

'Did you let it to a woman called Bunny Briefs?'

The woman on the other end hesitated. 'I'm not sure I should be giving out information like that. I'm sure she wouldn't want me to say.'

So, in other words, yes.

'Thanks anyway.' She hung up and joined the other two in the porch. All the buttons on the intercom had neatly printed names on them, except for one that was blank. She pressed it and waited.

No answer.

She pressed it again, long and obnoxiously.

'She's not here,' said Vegeta. 'I'd feel her life force if she was.'

'So the trail is cold?' asked Dr Briefs.

'No. It goes on.'

Vegeta stepped out onto the street again and continued walking uptown, slower this time. Bulma packed down her car and she and her father trotted after the alien. Vegeta's head swung left and right, and after a hundred yards or so he crossed the road, heading for the door of a beauty salon. There he stopped, stooped and nosed the handle. This was one of the most bizarre things she had ever witnessed, which was saying something considering her colourful past.

He opened the door and then fell back choking.

'How the hell can anyone breathe in there?' he asked, wheezing.

'Is she in there?' asked Bulma, not caring overmuch about Vegeta's sensitivity to hair spray, lotion and scented oils.

'No, thank the gods.'

He led them further onwards, the shops, eateries and bars becoming less upmarket as they went, until finally Vegeta halted at a seedy looking alley. He checked the street after it, then doubled back, staring down the dim alleyway formed from the tumble-down back end of shops, garages and dumpsters.

'She's down here,' he announced.

Bulma whimpered and grabbed her father's hand.

'In an alley? Is she…Is she…?'

Her father grasped her in return. 'Surely not!'

'Is she what?' asked Vegeta.

'Alive, you idiot!'

'Of course. Do you think I'd be so cheerful about it if she weren't?'

Bulma sagged in relief, and then considered Vegeta's countenance. So this stoic frown counted as cheerful to him, huh?

'What is she doing down there?' she asked. The only thing that didn't look like the back end of something was the place at the end which had a neon flashing sign for a place called "Le Moulin Bleu". A patisserie, perhaps? In an alley? _Not likely_.

Vegeta started down the alley and Bulma went to follow him, but her father kept hold of her arm and stayed rooted to the spot.

'What is it?' she asked.

'I think things might go easier if I stayed out of it at first.'

'Oh, don't be silly, Dad!'

Vegeta realised they weren't following and stopped to yell back at them. 'Are you coming?'

'If you wouldn't mind fetching her out, Vegeta!' replied her father. 'Maybe you could give her a brief explanation of the misunderstanding - I'm sure she'd be more prepared to listen to you than me right now!'

Vegeta betrayed an instant of astonishment, but then shrugged and continued. 'Whatever gets her back in the kitchen the fastest.'

'Dad,' complained Bulma, pulled her arm free. 'I should go too. She'd listen to me too!'

'I know, poppet, but I want you to stay here with me.'

Surprised, she looked her father in the face. She decided he must be taking this harder than she'd thought.

'Oh, Daddy!' she said, and hugged him tight. 'It's all going to be okay.'

'I know, Pumpkin. But I've had too much drama for twenty four hours. I just want to get your mother and go home.'

As she ended the hug and stepped back, a student walked past and pressed a flyer into her hand. She glanced down at it – it was just a cheap photocopied flyer printed on a pink piece of paper, and she wouldn't have even registered what it was for if a certain name hadn't caught her eye.

In a list of names, start times and taglines was one line that read "6pm: Bunny Hopper, Living Legend". Her eyes travelled to the title – Le Moulin Bleu - Classic Striptease and Gentlemen's Bar.

'Dad!' she said, looking wildly between him and the door Vegeta had disappeared into. 'That's a strip club!'

'Yes, I know, dear.'

'You _know?_ What is Mom doing in there? We just sent Vegeta in there after her!'

'I'm sure she's just taken a waitressing job.'

'Dad!' She brandished the flyer in his face. 'Who is Bunny _Hopper_?'

* * *

The minutes ticked by, each one taking an age. How long did it really take to bring her mother out? She was sure Vegeta wouldn't hesitate to bodily pick her up and carry her out, and her mother, nor anyone else, would be able to do anything to stop him.

'What's taking him so long?' Bulma fumed.

'They might be talking still,' suggested her dad. 'Vegeta is a very focused fellow, so there's probably nothing to worry about.'

'What're you saying?'

'I mean, I doubt he's got caught up watching the show, if that's what you're worried about.'

'He better not be!' she screamed, holding up the flyer again. 'You realise this is mom's set that's on right now!'

Her father blanched.

'I'm going in,' she declared, taking a bold step into the alley.

'So am I!' her father followed with immediately.

They hurried through the door of the strip club, and her father paid, but oh, Bulma had to look at the stage – her mortification was overwhelmed by morbid curiosity. Luckily her mom was still decently clothed, in a short, silver trench coat, stilettos, and twirling a parasol to the lyrics coming over the PA.

' _Under my umberella, ella, ella, eh, eh, under my umberella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh!_ '

And then her mom folded the parasol and planted it on the stage, bending down to it so that the trenchcoat rode up and showed off her buttocks in a little bikini bottom. She wiggled. A rowdy table of drunk college guys at the back of the room hollered.

'Oh jeez, this is not happening!' Bulma moaned.

They moved closer to the stage.

'Mom!' she shouted, but not too loud. It was way too weird to be shouting 'Mom' at a dancing stripper in earnest. The guy next to her heard anyway and choked on his beer.

She looked at her father, waiting for a cue from him for what to do next, but he was just staring wide-eyed at his wife's performance. The trenchcoat was coming off now, and though Bulma had seen her mother in a bikini countless times, this was somehow infinitely more embarrassing. She looked away, taking in the bar's denizens. A couple of girls were taking drinks orders in waitress aprons and pasties and not much else. There were some fat, middle aged business men still in their suits, a bunch of college aged boys and a few crusty old men. One table was being entertained by a bored looking girl giving a perfunctory lap dance to one of their member, but the rest were all watching her mom tease them with one bikini cup almost off, then on, then off.

'Take it all off!'

Bulma cringed. Suddenly her father shot to the bar. She followed, praying that he'd struck upon some course of action that would end this nightmare, but instead he just got some money off his debit card converted into cash and rushed back to front of stage.

'Oh, my god…'

Bulma sagged onto a bar stool, covering her eyes and watching through her fingers as the silver bikini top hit the deck. A wolf whistle pierced the air. It was from her father. Her mom carried on dancing. Bulma couldn't understand why she didn't stop. Surely she couldn't help notice her dad? He was pressed up against the stage like a front row groupie at a Justin Bieber concert, and as she watched, he threw a handful of ten zeni bills on the stage, which got a laugh from some of the college boys. And then her mom got down in front of him, a strangely fierce look on her face, and did all manner of sexy things to herself with her hands, while he stuffed more money in her bikini bottoms.

They were both insane.

More guys began to crowd the stage, following her father's example. Bulma covered her mouth and screamed into her hands at the sight of a perfect stranger sliding money between her mother's boobs like he was feeding a parking meter. Oh, god! That did it! She was giving up on giving up drinking right now!

Distraught, she turned to face the bar and called the barwoman over. She was wearing a sheer tank top, but Bulma much preferred the sight of a stranger's breasts to her mom's. 'Can I get a double gin and tonic, thanks?' she asked, trying to ignore the catcalling behind her. _I'm not here, I'm not here_ …

That was a point – she was here, but where was Vegeta? He'd disappeared. _He probably saw what was going down and bailed on us_ , she decided.

She sucked the gin and tonic down in under thirty seconds and then wondered why she hadn't just gotten a shot. Drawn to look at the stage again (slowly, so that she could close her eyes if she spied anything even worse out of the corner of then) she saw her mom gathering her spoils into a pile on the stage and then hopping up on the pole topless, smiling like she was watering her flowerbeds on a sunny day. In a way, it was amazing – this was a skillset she had no idea her mom possessed. In another way...

'What a MILF,' crooned one of the guys next to her at the bar.

'Duuuude!' replied his friend, though she wasn't sure if it was in agreement or disapprobation.

'I need to invent a memory wiping machine,' she muttered.

The MILF-appreciator carried his beer back to his table, but she could feel the other guy looking her up and down.

_Oh, great, what now?_

'She's pretty good, right?' he asked her. He was young - one of the college guys, wearing board shorts and his cap on backwards no less.

'Surprisingly so,' she said dryly.

'Can you do that?'

'Nope.'

'Oh well, I guess that's why she's up there and you're down here.'

She ignored that, willing the kid to go away. Her mother was off the pole now though, and tucked her fingers into the top of her bikini bottom. Bulma spun back to the bar in panic. The barwoman was pouring a tray of shots for the college boy, and he slouched forward on the bar too so that he could see her face better.

'You're really pretty,' he told her.

'Thanks.' She needed to get out of here, but just as she got off the stool and considered charging for the door she heard a ragged cheer go up. There was no way she was turning around at this point.

'And you've got an amazing rack,' the boy added.

She blinked, and then took a breath. Well, if this was how her evening was going to go down, she may as well take it with some attitude.

'You know, you're right. And it's not even my most impressive asset.'

The boy laughed. 'Yeah, your ass is pretty sweet, too,'

'No, I meant my _brain_.'

'Oh, sure! Are you like an adult student then? I'm at West City Law School, myself.'

'I'm a scientist.'

He raised his brows. 'Woah. I guess the sciences don't pay that well if you're stripping on the side!'

Bulma's mouth hung open for a second. He thought she was one of the strippers? She did a quick check, and maybe her dress was short and clingy, but it was _summer_ , and yes, she was still wearing sneakers and no make-up.

The barwoman passed up his tray of shots.

'You wanna drink?' he said, offering her one.

'No, thanks.'

'Go on! I was just going to give it to one of those jerks over there,' he said, nodding to the table that he friend had retreated to.

'So they're not all just for you?' she asked sarcastically.

He grinned. 'It's my birthday today. I just turned 21 and got access to my trust fund, so they reckon I've got to buy a round or some shit. Have one; you've gotta help me celebrate my birthday, don't you? I'm the birthday boy!'

Well, she could do with another drink, and he was insisting, so she picked one up, sipped, grimaced, then downed it anyway.

'Ack! Jaegermeister! You really are twenty-one, aren't you?'

'What's wrong with Jaegermeister?' he asked, sounding defensive.

'It's horrible, that's what. You'll learn eventually.'

'So, what's good then?'

'Um, lots of things.'

'Like?'

'Like single malt Scotch, for instance.'

Suddenly the kid was leaning over the counter, shouting at the bar girl again.

'Hey! A Scotch for the lady!'

'What kind?' the bar woman shot back, just as rudely.

He went around Bulma, leaning over the counter so he could speak to the barwoman in a lower voice and perhaps not be overheard as he said. 'I don't know. What's a single malt? The cheapest one?' The woman reached for the Glenfiddich 12 year old on the second shelf.

He came back to her with a tumbler with a stingy pour of whisky in it and watched expectantly as she took a sip.

'Is that better?'

'Yes, it's _better_ ,' she said, and then tipped it back. She wasn't going to waste her time _sipping_ a twelve year old Glenfiddich.

He loomed closer to her, planting a hand on the stool behind her to lean on his arm.

'Do I get a free lap dance because it's my birthday?' he asked with a grin.

'Not likely!' she replied, hopping away.

'Aw! Okay then, how much do you _charge_ for a lap dance?'

Bulma hiccupped and then snorted. 'Way more than you can afford, buddy!'

That didn't please him. 'Hey! Don't be like that! You don't know what I've got. Now, what's your price?'

'I don't have a price! I'm not a stripper! I don't even work here.'

Bulma watched his features move from surprise to embarrassment to anger in the space of a second.

'Not a stripper! What kind of scam are you playing?'

'No scam!' she said. What was this guy's problem?

'Well if you're not going to give me a lap dance you can pay me back for those two drinks you took from me.'

'What? You practically forced me to take those drinks!'

'I only offered them to you because I thought you were a stripper!'

Bulma turned red. 'Well, that's your problem, jerk, not mine!'

'Tony!' shouted the barwoman, waving down the bar to a bald, middle aged man at the end. She pointed at Bulma and the obnoxious law student, and Bulma seriously started to lose her temper.

'Oh, awesome! Thanks for creating a scene, brat!'

'You're the one creating a scene by trying to scam drinks from people! I should have known you weren't a stripper – you're too old and ugly!'

Bulma let rip on a laugh triple-dipped in irony. 'Oh! And I was really pretty with an incredible rack a few moments ago!'

At this point, Tony inserted himself, calmly putting his hands on both Bulma's and the nasty little punk's shoulders and pushing them apart.

'Hey! Am I going to have to throw one of you customers out? What's going on?'

'This slut is posing as a stripper to get free drinks!'

'Wow!' Bulma cried. 'You really know how to twist the facts! I'm sure your law career will go in leaps and bounds!'

'Is this true?' the burly old dude asked.

'Not a shred!' Bulma replied. 'I was sitting here trying to have a drink and mind my own business, and this slimy tot practically begged me to take his drinks. I thought he was hitting on me until he asked for a lap dance!'

'Well, why the fuck else would a skank like you be in a strip club if you're not a stripper? Don't tell me you're a lesbo!'

Bulma crossed her arms. 'And what if I was? What an ass you'd look right now!'

'We don't let women come in off the street and do lap dances in our establishment-'

'Which I wasn't,' interrupted Bulma. 'If I really was posing as one of your girls I would have taken the cash and done the dance, wouldn't I? Plus, I might actually come dressed for the act!'

'As I was saying,' said Tony loudly. 'We don't let girls come in off the street to work the customers, but there's no rule about a lady coming in to enjoy the vibe and have a drink.'

'Exactly!' said Bulma.

'But she took my drinks!' whined the boy. 'I'd never have bought her a thing if she'd only told me upfront she was a lesbian. For fuck's sake!'

'Right,' said Bulma. 'I'm actually here to support someone who is dancing tonight, and like I said, I was minding my own business until you began aggressively chatting me up. I didn't even want to talk to you!'

'Whatever, bitch!'

'Settle down, or you're leaving,' Tony warned. 'If you try this attitude on any of my girls you'll be out the door in ten seconds flat. Now apologise to the lady.'

'Sorry, you cheap-ass skank,' he muttered.

Bulma rolled her eyes. ' _I'm_ the cheap ass? I'll gladly pay for my drinks if it will make you go away and contemplate what an asshole you are.'

'Well, that's a more-than-fair resolution for you, sonny,' said Tony.

'Good, because that's all I wanted. You owe me two hundred and fifty zeni!'

Bulma put her hand into her little purse that held her car capsule, phone and money before remembering that she had no cash – she had spent the last on the burgers and the mall.

'I only have plastic.'

'That's fine,' said Tony. 'I'll put the payment through the till and give the cash to Mr Cheap for you.'

He went around the bar while Bulma bristled with anger at the kid next to her. The hate-waves were travelling in both directions, practically making the air between them buzz with the interference pattern. Bulma handed over her credit card.

'Thank you, Love, you're far too gracious,' said Tony, swiping the card through the machine. He held onto it while Bulma took the handset and entered her PIN number.

'Bulma Briefs?' he said, reading the card. 'Where have I heard that name before?'

Bulma failed to quash a flinch of horror. 'Oh, I have no idea.'

The horrid boy leaned forward to get another look at her. 'Isn't that the name of that stupid heiress that got down and dirty and almost died in a PR stunt last week?' he said.

'Oh, yeah. I saw something about that,' said Tony, peering at her more closely.

'As if that was me!' lied Bulma. 'We just share the name. There must be a dozen Bulma Briefs in West City alone.'

This wasn't true. Her frequent web searches on her own name assured her that she was still the only Bulma Briefs in West City, and certainly the only Bulma Briefs worth mentioning in the whole world.

'You've got blue hair, too,' pointed out Mr Cheap.

'So do a lot of people! If I was a famous heiress, what would I be doing slumming it in this place of an evening?'

'Hey!' protested Tony. 'This is a classy joint.'

'Oh. _Of course_.'

Tony passed her the cash and she slapped it into the boy's waiting hand. 'Don't forget to think about how much of an asshole you are!' she said as he turned away.

'Fuck you!'

It was only then that Bulma noticed that the stage was empty and the music had changed. She turned to Tony, confused.

'Who are you here to see, then?' Tony asked.

'Bunny Hopper.'

'Oh, right! She's a treat! I'm a fan of hers from way back.'

'Oh, really?' Bulma was having a hard time processing this evening. The shocks and revelations were coming too fast, and now her head was spinning a bit as the three drinks hit her system.

'Yeah. You look a bit like her, actually. You related?'

'Uh, yeah.' She looked at the stage again. Her father was gone too. Had they simply left while she'd been arguing?

'Hey,' said Tony, suddenly keen. 'You're not looking for a job are you? You look like you've got something going on there. If you can dance half as good as Bunny, we've got a place for you.'

'What? A stripping job? No thanks!'

'No need to be rude about it!' he replied.

She flung her arms wide in exasperation. 'What is it with tonight? Do I _look_ like the type of person who takes her clothes off for money?'

'It takes all types, love, and you'd be surprised who's willing to do what! Stripping's a great job, and it can pay well if you've got the right attitude. Though _you_ might not have the right attitude. A certain charm is required.'

She scowled at him. 'I'm charming! But I also don't need to be charming or stoop to stripping to make a fortune!'

Tony made a lemon-sucking face at her scorn. 'Ooh, someone thinks she's high and righteous above all us fallen beasts! I take it back – there's no job here for you, because if you were a stripper you'd be the poorest one in the city.'

Bulma took umbrage at that, aided by three shots of spirit. 'Believe me, if I _tried_ , I'd be the _best_.'

Tony snorted. 'I'd _love_ to see you try. Maybe I should get Mr Cheap back over here so you can give him a lap dance after all.'

'But I _won't_ try,' she clarified, 'because I'm not about to take a dip in the shallow end of the sex industry.'

'And you're here supporting Bunny, are you? That's a _very_ supportive attitude you have.'

'I'm just here to make sure she stays safe.'

Tony was outraged. ' _Nothing_ is going to happen to one of my dancers while she's here. I take care of my girls!'

'Right,' she said doubtfully, and then searched the bar for her mother again. 'So where is she even?'

He leaned over the bar and had a look over at the stage. 'She's probably gone back stage to dress for the next number.' The he frowned. 'But she's left all her kit and tips on the stage.'

He came around the bar again, and this time Bulma followed him to the stage. Once he was there though a voice rang out from the door. The greasy, grey haired man was dealing with a flush of customers who had just come in, but he waved at Tony.

'Tony! Fetch that fluff-headed twit you hired and get her ready for the next performance!'

'All right, calm down, Vinny! Where is she?' asked Tony.

'Round the corner giving a nude lap dance to some geezer!' Bulma felt the hair on her head stand up in horror.

'Who said she could do that?'

'Not fucking me, that's who!'

Tony was about to cross the room to look into the booth behind the wall, but the large group of customers milling around the door and drifting towards the bar got in his way. Bulma wormed her way between the big guys just in time to see her parents emerge from the booth, her mother wrapped in her father's lab coat for modesty's sake, despite that horse having bolted so hard it'd shot to the moon. Her father kissed her mother and groped her through the coat.

'You're the best customer I could ever have!' teased her mother.

Her father squeezed her tight. 'And I've got the best good-time girl in the world in my arms!'

And giggling like teenagers, they raced to the door and out before either of the owners or Bulma could interfere.

 _I guess they've made up_ , she thought with relief. _I'd better get on with inventing that memory wiper if I ever want to look them in the eye again._

'Hey!' yelled Vinny as she spotted the two escaping behind the customer who was paying. 'Where'dya think you're going? Tony, after them!'

Tony shoved his way through the crowd and out the door, and Bulma rushed after him, keen to make her own escape, but Vinny skirted the counter and the customer and blocked her way, grabbing her by the arms.

'Hey, let me go!' she cried, and he did, but he still blocked the door with his body.

'You came in here with that grey haired geezer!' Vinny said. 'Why's he nicked off with one of our strippers?'

'He hasn't "nicked off" with her – he's taken her home!'

'That's called kidnapping!'

'It's not kidnapping! They're married, and she left willingly!'

The door opened behind Vinny and Tony pushed past him.

'The guy had a hover jet capsule in his pocket!' he exclaimed. 'Took off right out of the lane!'

'That bimbo stitched us right up!' said Vinny. 'Nice hire, Tony!'

'Hey!' protested Tony. 'I didn't know her pimp was going to show up and whisk her away mid-performance!'

'He's not a pimp, he's my dad!' yelled Bulma, pushed over the edge by that particular insinuation. Tony and Vinny both stared at her now.

Just then, several of the newly entered patrons returned to the desk.

'Where's the dancers?' one of them asked Vinny. 'Isn't this a strip club?'

'It is. Just cool your heels a few minutes – go have a drink,' said Vinny distractedly.

'I came for titties, not a drink,' the other one muttered.

'And there will be titties, don't worry!' But then two of the older business men wandered over too, slipping in front of the grumbling younger men.

'Tony, how long till the next dancer is on?' said the paunchy, dark haired one. Bulma took the chance to try and leave, but Tony's burly arm was unbudging on the door handle. He was no legendary warrior, but he was enough to stop her leaving the bar.

'In a little while,' said Tony, ignoring her struggles.

'How long's that?' the man asked. 'I gotta get home before dinner, and I didn't pay seven hundred zeni for only two performances.'

'Right, right, sorry. We've just had our first dancer have to go home very suddenly, but we'll get the next one up there as soon as possible, so sit tight.'

As the dissatisfied men turned away Tony spoke to Vinny. 'We need Chastity to go on _now_. Is she here yet?'

'No!' snapped Vinny. 'She phoned just before and said she was stuck in traffic!'

Bulma gave one more gigantic heave on the door and succeeded in knocking Tony forward and centring their attention on her again.

'Let me go!' she cried. 'This is abduction you know!'

Vinny snorted. 'Yeah, tell the police that we stopped you getting back to your pimp- sorry, your pimp _daddy_ – after he cleared off with our dancer mid-show. Maybe _I_ should be calling the police?'

'You said you were related to Bunny,' said Tony. 'Is she all right with that guy?'

'Yes!' she exclaimed. 'They're married! She's my...' She stopped out of sheer mortification, but the other two made the connection anyway.

'She's your _mother?_ '

'Ho-lee shit!'

'I thought you looked a bit like her, but _damn!_ ' breathed Tony.

Vinny came closer to her, giving her face a good stare. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. 'Wait a minute; who _are_ you?'

'No one particularly important,' Bulma lied.

'Her name's Bulma Briefs, like the crazy heiress,' said Tony.

Vinny's mouth popped open. 'No...No she's not!' He reached behind him and grabbed the paper he'd been reading on the desk. It was last Sunday's edition of the West City Crier. He turned to the front page, and there it was, the infamous 'Taste the Best' photo, and the one of her being taken from the convention centre in a wheelchair, and a third helpful corporate mug shot of herself under the headline "What Goes Up, Must Go Down: Hanging Out has Heiress Horribly Hungover."

'She _is_ the crazy heiress!' Vinny cried, eyes shining with excitement. 'And so that man that ran out with Bunny must be Dr Briefs, head of Capsule Corp!'

Bulma backed up against the wall. Oh, hell...what now? Sweda Turnup would fall down dead – scratch that – _she_ might fall down dead! And yes, _this_ PR gaff was kind of her parent's fault, but Bulma was the one that had gotten recognised, all because of her idiotic behaviour the other night.

'No, it isn't,' she squeaked, but Tony took the tabloid from Vinny, looked between it and her and pronounced, 'Yes, it is, love.'

 _Shit, shit!_ Bulma stood up straight again, heart beating fast. _Don't panic, Bulma. When all else fails, there's always money._

'How much will it take for you to keep quiet?' she asked.

'Ten million zeni,' said Vinny flatly.

Bulma blinked, but that was doable. She reached for her phone – she wasn't just going to hand over the cash – this sort of thing required a lawyer and a legally binding agreement. But Tony stepped forward.

'It's not about money,' he said. 'It's about reputation, as I'm sure you know.'

'What're you saying?'

'I'm saying that I worked hard to build this club up from scratch, and we're down an act until our next girl gets out of the traffic jam she's stuck in. We don't want your money-'

'The hell we don't!' shouted Vinny.

'We want an act, up on stage, pronto.'

'Well, what do you want me to do about it?' Bulma asked. 'I can't pull a stripper out of a hat, you know.'

'But you can probably find one under that dress,' said Tony.

'WHAT?'

'Tony, what are you on about?' cried Vinny. 'Let's cut our losses and take the money! If people ask for refunds we'll just give them one!'

'And spoil the reputation of this club for who knows how long?'

'The reputation of the club is already on its knees!'

'Yeah! So we can't let it fall any further!'

Bulma clutched her head, afraid she was going mad. 'This is ridiculous! You just told me before that I'd be a terrible stripper!' And then she saw the amusement lurking in Tony's eyes. 'Oh, I get it! This isn't about the club's reputation – this is about seeing me eat crow!'

Tony grinned, confirming it even as he denied it. 'No, no, it's a legal matter. Your mother signed a contract. We moved the schedule around for her. We were relying on her! Now you're going to give us the performances she ducked out on.'

Bulma laughed in disbelief. 'As if anything could compel me up on stage to strip for you!'

'Really? Nothing?' he said, holding up the tabloid and shaking it before her. 'We've got a legal document showing your mother was employed here, and two credit card transactions belonging to you and your father and a fair amount of witnesses. That'd make quite a headline, wouldn't it?'

Bulma flushed red in fury. Yes, the press would have a field day, and her whole family would be tarred by this humiliation. She and her father would both be forced to step down from the board of directors. Her family life should have no bearing on consumer confidence, but she was cynical enough to know that it _would_.

'You want me to strip?' she asked. She shook her head as the words left her lips. 'Don't be ridiculous! If I wanted to keep this quiet I wouldn't go and make it worse by hopping on stage in front of a pile of phone cameras!'

'There are wigs in the back. Just put some make-up and a wig on and no one will recognise you.'

'I'm _not_ getting naked for those buffoons.'

'Keep a thong on if you have to, just get your top off. You said you'd be the best stripper if you ever tried, so now you're gonna try. Should be a piece of cake, according to you.'

She looked from Tony's face to Vinny's in horror, and the decided to appeal to Vinny's baser nature.

'If I'm...fulfilling my mother's contract, I'm not paying you as well!'

Vinny's face showed his true concern. 'Tony! I don't care about some point you're trying to prove, I want the money!'

Tony laughed. 'She's not in much of a position to negotiate terms.'

'Oh, my god,' moan Bulma. She had done things...close to this, definitely not as bad as this for the sake of getting out of a tight jam or laying hands on a dragonball before, and had her breasts flashed against her will, but she was older and had a greater sense of her own pride and place in the world than she did then. Could she do this one thing for the sake of Capsule Corporation and her family's public standing?

_I probably can._

'Okay, one dance,' she said, deflating.

Tony erupted into a laugh. 'Hey, hey! Two dances! That's what your mother had left.'

'One dance!' she spat right back. 'One dance and five million zeni, and you swear I will NEVER hear a breath about this in the press!'

'Ten million zeni!' cried Vinny again. ' _Then_ I'll swear!'

'Fuck!' Bulma spat. ' _Seven_ million zeni, and bring me a bottle of fucking tequila! I need to be drunker than this.'

Tony was laughing. 'It's a deal as far as I'm concerned. I'll take you back stage via the bar, love. Vinny, make an announcement to buy us a few minutes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Follow up chapter coming very soon! I promise!
> 
> Did anyone notice I snuck another Rhianna song in there? Anyone would think I was a fan or something.


	7. Baby Bunny

Bulma presently found herself in a tatty dressing room that smelt of perfume and deodorant and throbbed with the bass of the music from the stage. A wardrobe was flung open before her with some silly outfits hanging higgledy-piggledy on the rails, and a rummage box of fancy dress accessories, thongs, bikinis and lingerie.

'How am I supposed to find an outfit in this mess?' she asked. 'And how do you expect me to wear some other woman's underwear?'

'Well, I suggest you hurry,' said Tony. 'And these don't really belong to anyone – they're more communal. Don't worry, it's all been washed.'

Bulma grimaced and rubbed a hand over her face, then took a swig of tequila straight from the bottle. As she put the bottle down on a dressing table she glared sidelong at Tony.

'I hate you.'

Tony grinned.

Then Vinny's announcement could be heard through the speaker in the corner of the room.

'Good evening, gentlemen! I apologise for the wait, but our precious dancer Bunny Hopper suddenly took ill and had to return home. In just a couple of short minutes though, we have a replacement dancer making her debut tonight!'

'Shit!' she swore, grabbing the first thing from the rack – an absurdly over sexualised blue-and-white gingham baby doll dress - and throwing it back again in horror.

Tony turned serious again. 'Look, in two minutes were going to announce you onto the stage! Be out there when the music starts or the deal is off, okay?'

Bulma grabbed the dress again, and Tony left her to it.

Bulma stripped off in the middle of the room, then began her preparation in panic.

_Layers, layers! That's what I need!_

She ploughed into the rummage box finding stuff that seemed to match and ramming it on. This and that, stockings, this thing, what was that? That was going on too, and the babydoll dress. She grabbed a wig from the row of stands on the top shelf of the wardrobe – a long, strawberry blonde one with an improbable wave to it and shoved it on – then bent to put some shoes on – too big, but there was no time for finding a good fit. Then she was rifling the dressing tables, daubing her eyes quickly in some other woman's eye shadow, applying a wobbly, shaky attempt at eyeliner, mascara and bright red lip stick.

The music outside faded down.

'And now a real treat for you all,' she heard Tony announce over the PA. 'In her debut performance, please welcome to the stage, the daughter of Bunny Hopper; Baby Bunny!'

'Ohmygod,' whispered Bulma. She took one last gulp of tequila and tottered out to the side of stage.

Some weird, automatic imitation of Tyra Banks's Fierce Walk got her all the way to the front of the stage before abandoning her there with no idea how to proceed. She was not walking a runway, after all. For a start, the clothes she wore looked like Little Red Riding Hood was turning tricks in the woods on the way to Grandma's. She'd thought the scarlet hooded cape would go further in disguising her face, at least at first, but she could barely see. Despite the drinks she felt awfully self-conscious, and she made the mistake tilting her head back to look under the hood at the expectant faces of the audience, which jolted her further into a state of mind closer to sobriety. At the back of the room was Mr Cheap with his college buddies, watching her with scepticism, and near the stage was Tony, hooting and clapping in what she was sure was a 100% sarcastic manner. She hissed. Dammit, she'd show him even if she had to die of mortification to do it!

She chucked the hood back onto her shoulders, careful not to dislodge the wig, and let the audience get a look of her face. What was this music? It had such a stripped back, cold beat, totally at odds with the outfit she had put together.

'Stripclubs and dollar bills; I still got my money,' went the lyrics.

 _Well, at least that's true_ , she consoled herself.

She had a cape on, so she used it, twirling away from the edge of the stage, then back the other way, swirling it dramatically with her arms to give a glimpse of the outfit she wore beneath. Teasing; that's how it was done, right? Actually, she had no idea. She'd never been into a strip club before tonight.

'Dracula!' cried Mr Cheap in jest, and his buddies cracked up, obviously rather drunk already.

Scowling, she reached for the clasp of the cloak and dropped it to the floor. Underneath the red riding hood she was dressed as some sort of sexy Bo Peep or Dorothy Gale mash up – the super short, gingham baby-doll dress with white fishnets and heavy mary-jane platform heels. A fully cohesive costume was not possible in the time she'd had. Well, she may as well riff on some sort of cutsie fairy-tale ingénue, right?

She clasped her hands to her front and bobbed her knees, attempting to dimple her smile for the audience. Then she raised her right foot behind her. That was a cute pose, right? The reaction from the audience was underwhelmingly passive, with just a hint of befuddlement _. Okay. I guess I should actually dance,_ she told herself. She rolled her eyes, silently asking for deliverance as she started to bust out her usual dance moves, attempting a sexy twist here and there, but her shoes handicapped her somewhat, as did her self-consciousness. She found herself turning red even before the fat man in the business suit started laughing. Bulma turned her back on her audience to gather fortitude before continuing. How had her mother been dancing? Could she do that?

She spied the pole and made a dash for it. Grasping the thing she let her weight slide past it and carry her around, but then she toppled on the heels, losing her feet, leaving her hanging from the pole while she scrambled to haul herself upright again. _How can anyone dance in shoes like this?_ Maybe if she wasn't on her feet…

She hopped up the pole, wrapping her hands and legs around it. _Now what?_ She tried to spin, but couldn't. She let go of the pole with one hand and reached out behind her, trying to arch her back, but her grip on the pole with her legs started to fail with her skirts and stockings in the way. She tried to wriggle back up with her legs, but she continued to slide until her butt hit the stage. More laughter.

Cheeks burning, she hopped to her feet again. How long was this damn song? When would this torture cease?

'Pro tip!' yelled Mr Cheap. 'Strippers strip!'

Bulma flipped him the bird before remembering herself, and the audience kind of hissed and ooh-ed and laughed a bit at her audacity. Fine, whatever. She started to pop the domes on the front of the babydoll dress, still wiggling from side to side a bit before remembering that she'd wanted to get some mileage out of the short, flounced skirt first. Spinning around she bent over like she'd seen her mother do (memory wipe!) to show off the frilled underwear she'd rammed on. This got a bit more of an appreciative reaction, but the platform shoes did her in again. Their rolled-front caused her to tip forward and before she could correct her balance she found her hands hitting the stage. She was now stuck in downward-dog, mid-routine. More chortles came from behind her.

 _Maybe that was too much tequila after all?_ she wondered. Flustered, she crouched to stand and then popped the rest of the domes down the front of the dress and pulled it off. Now she stood there in a white bustier, the frilly, high-waisted knickers, suspenders and fishnets – technically underwear, but she was still decently covered. Apparently the audience thought so too, and were entirely unimpressed by this reveal. Bulma tried to dance again to fill in time, losing her head entirely and distractedly pulling out the only routine she knew by heart – The Timewarp from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

'Oh, why are we waiting?' the fat man sang loudly.

'We are salivating!' Tony joined in. She gave him a vicious scowl.

'Take some clothes off!' clarified one of the college boys from the back.

'Take a fucking chill pill!' she yelled back and the audience booed. 'Fine,' she muttered, looking for the next thing that could go. The suspenders? She undid the hooks that kept it closed – it was kind of a mess anyway, a red suspender belt with white stockings and underwear? The lack of co-ordination bothered her. Once free of course, she realised the stockings were still attached to the suspenders so had to undo the clips. That took a moment, and then the worn stockings fell down her legs, pooling at her ankles over the Mary Janes. Mr Cheap fell into hysterics.

Glowing with fury now, she suppressed the realisation that she hadn't thought this through very well, and danced on the spot as if she had meant to hobble herself with her fishnets.

'Fuck you,' she muttered to the universe at large. 'And you too.'

Tony came to the front of the stage and tapped his wristwatch. Did that mean the song would be over soon? Then he mimed ripping his bodice open.

 _God, I don't want to do this!_ she thought, but was provoked enough to go through with it. The sooner she did it the sooner she could be off the stage.

She turned her attention to the front busk of the bustier, undoing it in one move. One of the metal hooks stuck though, and with her boobs half busting out of the top she had to press the two edges back together to undo it. More hooks caught, and in frustration she struggled with it, trying to align the two sides of the busk enough to get it off again.

'Do you need a hand, love?' yelled another dude, and the audience cracked up.

The corset came loose and fell to the floor at last, and Bulma stood her in knickers and humiliating dollar sign pasties that she'd found on one of the dressing tables. A bunch of strangers weren't going to see her nipples. Again.

 _Grin and bear it, grin and bear it_ , she'd ordered herself, but though the bearing was unavoidable, the grin just wouldn't come. She had never failed in something so utterly as she was right now.

And then things had gotten much worse.

* * *

A minute and a half later Bulma stood panting in the dressing room, too overcome with wrath to actually do anything. It wasn't that she was purely angry – that would be easier to process. No, on some level she was deeply amused by everything that had happened since she'd entered this establishment. This had to be the absurd cherry on top of an already tutti-frutti life, surely? She also felt something else... Some kind of weird feeling of freedom... Some kind of _powerful_.

'Screw those clowns,' she said to her reflection in the mirror, with her fake blonde curls sticking in her naked cleavage. She wiggled her breasts from side to side and rolled her eyes. 'They have no idea what fire they were so close to today! No idea!' She had practically bared her all to strangers – would any situation ever be more awkward? She was set free! She had loosed the last chains of modesty! She pulled the finger at her wounded modesty, her ruined public image, her crippling embarrassment over how her recklessness really got her places she didn't expect.

'Screw that, Bulma!' she insisted, raising the middle fingers of both hands now, ramming them up the metaphorical ass of the public and giving them a hearty swivel.

Starting to snigger, she finally made a move to one of the stools in front of a dresser, plucking a make-up wipe from a dressing table and scrubbing the lipstick away. She took a sip of consolation tequila and then had to put it down again as she suddenly snorted. Laugher started to erupt from her like crude from a freshly drilled oilhead, thick and messy. It shook her from the inside, and she was almost silent as it welled up so hard that it jammed in her throat and made her gasp for air.

'Oh, no! No, no!' she snorted when she could air back in her lungs. 'What the fudge, Bulma?' she asked her pastie-clad reflection. 'How do you _life_ so well?' Tears of laughter made her mascara run, so she reached for another make up wipe and started taking that off too. She was still angry, but there was no denying what a tale this would make for the grandkids once she was ninety and senile.

She was still panda-eyed when Tony burst in and she remembered to be angry.

'What?' she asked, looking at him over her shoulder in the mirror and wrapping her arms over her still mostly naked breasts.

'Not as easy as you thought, then?' he teased her, grinning from ear to ear. 'I gotta say though, that really goes down as one of the all-time _worst_ debut dances I've ever witnessed, but at least it wasn't boring.'

Bulma gave him the evils in return. 'Ha-ha, I guess you win.'

'That I do...' Tony's grin turned into a grimace. Sensing danger, Bulma turned around in her seat to face him properly.

'What?' she demanded.

'Well...there was one other thing that your mother was going to do which she skipped out on.'

' _What?_ ' Bulma repeated.

'A guy was waiting out back for a private dance from her. He's been waiting a while, but since she's buggered off...'

'I didn't agree to that!'

'I know. But if you want to... I mean, we'd give you your fair share of the fee.'

'Do you think I need the money?' she asked. 'Your partner is blackmailing me for seven million!'

'Yeah, well. No. But this guy's seen you on stage, and for some reason he wants a private show – go figure.'

Bulma pursed her lips, considering the reasons someone might want a private dance with her after that show. Worse case – they had recognised her. Best case? They were super turned on by her Drunken Master stripping skills, and as far as best cases went, that wasn't that great. But perhaps it was Mr Cheap finally forking out? In which case, maybe she should relieve him of his birthday money and give him a dance he'd not forget in a hurry.

Tony gave her a shrewd look and walked further into the room. 'If you _do_ do the dance, well the girl makes the rules. You can dance however you want, as little or as much touching as you want, talk to him or not, and if he breaks the rules we throw him out.' He plucked a couple of thin silk scarves off the corner of a mirror and tossed them at her. 'You can even tie his arms to the chair to make sure he doesn't get handsy.'

Bulma had a vision of herself dancing about and garrotting Mr Cheap with a polyester silk scarf and snorted. Or hurling abuse and shoes at whatever creep awaited her. The mood she was in right now, the idea did have some appeal. At the very least she wanted to see what kind of guy wanted a dance from her.

'Can I at least see the guy first?' she asked and then almost went cross-eyed as she realised she was slightly considering doing this.

'Sure,' said Tony. 'We'll stick our heads through the curtain; you can let me know if it's a go.'

'What then? If it's a go? Which, by the way, I highly doubt it will be.'

Tony grinned. 'The music will play for fifteen minutes, and when it stops you're done. If things go sideways before then and you don't feel safe, just yell out and I'll be there to end it. You make the rules, remember.'

He turned to lead the way, and Bulma called out.

'Wait, what do I wear?'

'What you're wearing's fine.'

Bulma looked down at herself. She wasn't wearing anything that counted as clothes. Walking to the door she grabbed the first thing off the top of the rummage box, finding it was a mesh body suit, and she slipped her bare feet through the leg holes as they went. Tony stopped outside a curtain and she finished yanking the body suit up over her shoulders. It had a deep V down to her belly button and was so sheer it really didn't do a damn thing to hide anything. She'd be basically still naked in front of whoever was in that room.

 _I'm not going to dance_ , she told herself. _I'm just going to look. Probably._

'Ready?' said Tony. She nodded and twitched the curtain aside. Peeking through the gap she could see no one. Then a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her right through the curtains.

She screamed as she found herself faced with a terrifying visage of fury, caught herself, and then screamed again, this time in annoyance and embarrassment.

'Vegeta, you ass!'

* * *

Vegeta had recognised the kind of place it was the instant he walked in. The grey, greasy haired man standing at the desk, guarding the entrance to the hall and the pulsing lights could have indicated a number of things, but Vegeta recognised the _smell_. It stunk of stale alcohol, sweat, perfume and arousal, mostly male, and despair. Vegeta had not been surprised to see a scantily clad woman stalking the stage, gyrating for the thirty or so punters that stared at her, mesmerised while they sipped their drinks.

It was while the gatekeeper had been trying to extract a seven hundred zeni cover charge from him that an unfortunate event occurred.

'I object to paying for your plebeian pleasures, when I'm only here to talk to someone,' he'd been telling him.

'And who's that?' the man had demanded.

And that was the precise moment a sudden movement from the stage had caught his eye. Vegeta had looked up to see what had made a few spectators hoot. The woman had shirked her mesh top, freeing two heavy breasts that swung enchantingly at her movement. Vegeta hadn't been able to help the momentary distraction, or the momentary surge of arousal at the sight – he was a Saiyan, but still only a man after all. The dancer spun, her eyes nearly closed, blonde curls flying, a huge smile on her face-

Then! _Then_ came the horror he would spend the rest of his days trying to forget, he was sure! He'd had fallen back against the door in confusion, his thoughts racing - _Gods, no! What? What am I seeing?_ One thing was for sure – he'd needed to stop seeing it, immediately. He'd torn his eyes away, his arousal murdered in an instant and perhaps never to rise again; that blasted woman had been up on stage!

'Hey, mate, who do you want to talk to?' he man had prompted him out of his catatonia.

'Her,' he'd wheezed, pointing with one hand while he shielded his eyes from the stage with the other. He could not let her know he had seen her. He would never live it down, and he was sure she'd never let him forget it.

'Well, Bunny is working tonight, but she won't be doing much _talking_.'

'That doesn't matter to me. I need to talk with her privately.'

'Look, mate, we don't sell _conversation_ at this establishment,' the man had replied, as if Vegeta was an idiot. 'If you want to see her privately you can get some one-on-one after she's finished her set and if she wants to talk to you after that, that's her business.'

'How long will she be?'

'Another ten or fifteen minutes, I'd say.'

'Fine. Where can I wait?'

'You can wait at the bar.'

But the woman would be sure to spy him at the bar. 'No!'

The man had made a face. 'If it really bothers you mixing with the other punters you can wait in one of the rooms until she's ready.'

'I'll do that. Take me there.'

And then the man had extracted two thousand zeni for the privilege of privacy! Vegeta had exclaimed in outrage, but then he had no real idea what Earthling money was worth, nor was he spending his own, so he'd put aside his natural tendency to strike the hardest bargain possible that still left the other party alive, and handed over the credit card that Dr Briefs had given him for any emergencies of a fiscal nature.

The card was swiped and the receipt signed, and Vegeta had followed the guy down the back of the club, shuddering as he saw some very small panties drop to the stage out of the corner of his eye.

Then he was consigned to this dismal place for what he was sure was far longer than ten or fifteen minutes. Not so much a room as a nook, seedy and poorly lit, with cheap gilded mirrors and faded velvet drapes, a stained chaise lounge against the back wall and in the centre, an ornate, wooden arm chair upholstered in more worn velvet and the ghost of jism-past. Beginning to figure out exactly what kind of "privacy" he had purchased for two thousand zeni, he paced the room, not wanting to be mistaken for an actual customer, and wanting to be ready to dispel any wrongful notions the moment that ridiculous woman showed up. Besides, knowing what his nose told him about the furniture he was not inclined to sit on it.

The music filtering through from the bar changed several times until finally the annoying doorman had made an announcement.

'…our precious dancer Bunny Hopper suddenly took ill and had to return home…'

'WHAT?' Vegeta had roared. He'd been wasting his time in here all along! Sure enough, when he checked, the buzzard's chi was nowhere close by at all.

He'd torn through the curtains again and made his way back to the main hall. Before he'd gotten there though he sensed something that confused him. Though the mother's chi was gone, Bulma's was now behind him, backstage somewhere. After a few seconds pondering he'd figured that perhaps she was gathering her mother's items. With no terrifying matriarch exposing her body on stage it was safe to linger at the doorway to the corridor, taking in the ambience of half-assed hedonism and the sullen, topless wait staff while he waited for Bulma to show herself.

He hadn't been expecting her to show herself in quite the manner that she did.

Then the second announcement had been made, and he stood up straight.

_Daughter of Bunny could not be the literal daughter of Bunny, could it?_

But yes! The woman that walked out on stage was heavily disguised, but it was incongruously her. A red velvet cloak sheathed her down to her knees, with a hood drawn down low over her face. Only her red lips and tumbling synthetic tresses could be seen from under it. She strutted, then lurched, laddered white fishnet stockings tottering about, weighed down with clunky, stupid looking shoes that seemed designed to break her ankles. The cloaked figure regained her balance, then continued to stomp the stage, stopping at the end, and then moving about a bit in what might have been a dance, but just set the cloak swaying a bit.

Vegeta had no idea what was going on, but he was fully prepared to watch and find out.

Then the dance had gotten underway.

Vegeta was no expert by a long shot, but even he knew that this was not good. Bulma had the grace a freshly awoken Nappa and the poise of a turkey on stage. She had fallen, tumbled, sworn and still somehow stripped to underwear while he stared. He had not, _could not_ understand why he was seeing what he was seeing. His woman was standing on front of the crowd of uncouth, unworthy, unwashed rabble with nothing but a scrap of polyester around her hips and the Earth symbol for money covering her perfect nipples. Possessiveness struck him through the core. He should go up there and drag her off the stage! Or should he? Why should he care? He gave her a hard look. It wasn't his place to be telling the Earth woman what she should be doing with herself, and he was curious as to how she had ended up in this situation. No, he would watch and see where this was going even though it disquieted him.

Besides, even though he was sharing the sight with a roomful of others, it was a very amusing sight indeed. She was being _utterly_ humiliated, yet wasn't going down without a fight.

He saw her hook her fingers on the back of her frilly panties and he stood straighter again the door frame. Was she going to entirely expose herself? He was gripped by the urge to stop her, but grit his teeth and held still instead. The rowdy room seemed to catch its breath all at once as the underwear swept her hips…Ah! More, smaller underwear underneath, but these ones didn't leave much to the imagination. Arousal warred with anger inside him.

The bigger panties fell to her ankles and joined the tangle of stocking there just as the music stopped. Bulma tried to take a shuffling step; all that the mess would allow her, and the audience howled with laughter. She turned around and tripped right over, tumbling to her hands. Crouched down on the stage she struggled to yank one shoe off and free herself of the stockings.

'You suck!' cried one of the young cretins from the rear. In a flash of motion, Bulma stood on her one free foot and launched the heavy shoe at the heckler with devastating accuracy. He was felled, disappearing behind his friends who doubled up with laughter. Vegeta laughed too, feeling a flicker of pride at her unexpected attack. Another man was speaking to her from the side of the stage while she pulled the other shoe off. As soon as she had it free she launched it at the older man, which he sadly ducked, and then she flipped him off with no small amount of gusto. She strode away back stage leaving Vegeta entertained but no less confused.

The man who had taken his money was shaking his head at the display, but caught Vegeta's eye as Bulma disappeared backstage. He headed over to him, and Vegeta remembered his original purpose.

'Where is the blonde woman called Bunny?' he asked as soon as the greasy man was in earshot.

'Well, about that – she had to go home suddenly. So, sorry about that, you won't be getting your private time with her. If you wait a bit longer I can get you one of the other girls.'

Vegeta's gaze swept the rest of the room and he lifted his lip. 'I don't want any of your other girls. The only person I want to see to right now is the one who was just on stage.'

' _Bulma?_ ' he asked, incredulous. "I mean, Baby Bunny?'

'Yes.'

The man continued to stare at him like he was crazy. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

The man frowned. 'Look, I'm don't know if I can arrange that. If she doesn't want to I can't force her, and something tells me she's going to say no.'

'Bring me that woman!' Vegeta ordered, his temper getting free of him. Whatever his face was doing made the older man take a step back.

'Jeez, settle down, or you won't get any private time at all! I'll ask her, and maybe you'll get lucky.'

Vegeta stared down his nose at the man; quite a feat for someone who was four inches shorter than the one he was intimidating.

'I will wait in the private chamber.'

Now at last, she was here.

'You have some explaining to do, Woman!'

Bulma's mouth was popped right open in surprise, and yes, anger to match his own. So, she was indignant? Well, this might be interesting.

'Hey, what's going on?' said a heavyset old man, appearing behind Bulma. 'Let go of the dancer!'

Vegeta pulled her to his side instead.

'Hey!'

'Vegeta, stop it!' said Bulma, pulling out of his grasp.

'Do you know this guy?' asked the man.

'Yes, I do, don't worry about him, Tony.' She glared at Vegeta while she said this, looking him up and down, her arms crossed in front of her breasts like she hadn't just been walking around showing them off a moment ago. 'And I think it's _you_ that has some explaining to do!'

'I think you have more.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Let's just go home. Mom and Dad have already ditched us.'

'Are you two brother and sister?' asked Tony, looking confused. They both baulked at that.

'Hell, no!' cried Bulma. 'What do you think of my family? Sheesh!'

Bulma turned back to the curtain, but Vegeta was not ready to leave.

'I paid for fifteen minutes; I want fifteen minutes.'

Bulma rolled her eyes. 'Why? Come on, it's been a shitty couple of days. Let's just go home.'

Vegeta set his feet wider, crossing his arms and lifting his chin.

'Woman, I want my fifteen minutes of _privacy_ ,' he said with a pointed glare at Tony.

Slowly she realised an upside to his insistence. 'Oh. Yeah, okay then.'

Tony frowned. 'You _are_ doing the dance?' he asked her.

'Sure,' said Bulma.

He made a face of concern. 'O-kay...' Then he wagged a finger at Vegeta whose eyes gleamed dark at the insult of it. 'Behave yourself or you're out, friend of Bulma's or not. A strip club is no place for a domestic barney.'

He withdrew, but Bulma kept her eyes on Vegeta. He was staring back at her, kind of simmering, but then his eyes raked down her and back up, and a small tremor passed through him. Obligingly she uncovered her breasts and his gaze switched to them with a corresponding hitch in his breath. Bulma glanced at the mirror on the back wall and checked herself out. Yep, she could see why he was impressed.

Eventually his eyes made it back to hers.

'At least take that awful wig off,' he said.

She did, and gladly. It didn't smell the best.

'What the hell happened here tonight?' he asked as she tossed the synthetic thing to the floor. 'It was shock enough to find your mother on the stage, but I have no clue how you could have found your way up there.'

She opened her mouth to tell him and then stopped. She imagined his reaction to her telling him that she'd been blackmailed into it. Would he care? Something in his eyes and agitated manner told her that he would, that he was very bothered by what he'd seen. If he was bothered by the thought that she'd voluntarily stripped would he be even more upset if she told him that she _hadn't_ wanted to? It would be no problem for him to destroy this place literally, to rough up, beat or kill Tony and Vinny, and though she kind of hated their guts they didn't deserve that.

The piped music started up and Bulma decided to bury the question with distraction.

'Can we leave the explanations until later? We've only got fifteen minutes here, and I don't want to waste them all talking.' Talking certainly wouldn't be as fun as what sprang to mind when she'd agreed to the private time.

'I would rather find out-'

'Ladies make the rules in the private rooms,' she interrupted him. 'Those are the house rules. If you break the rules I make the session end, and Tony comes running in to throw you out.'

Vegeta snorted. 'His rules are not made to hold _me_ back from anything.'

'What about my rules, then, huh? Tough guy? Care about what I say?'

Vegeta clenched his teeth hard on his reply, and fearing that she would push him to a less than desired answer she said, 'Just play along, then!'

Vegeta's mouth softened a little, twisting a like into something that could almost be a smile as he asked sullenly, 'What are your "rules" then?'

'You paid for a private dance, so I'm going to dance.'

Vegeta sniggered, making her cross. 'Like you did outside?'

'Maybe, maybe not. Now sit down!' she ordered pointing at the chair.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 'You would not want me to sit if you knew what has happened in this chair.'

Bulma cast a look over it, but it looked clean enough to her. 'Quit niggling, and sit. Hands on the armrests.'

He did as told, and then she brought forth the silk scarves. Vegeta made a low rumbling noise just a shade off growling, his eyes roving down her body again. 'What game are you playing at?'

'My game.'

She leaned over to tie the scarves and she could feel the warmth of his body on her skin. Her fingers brushed his wrists as she tied him down and she looked up at his face, catching him looking at her breasts again, trapped in the mesh suit. Her nipples hardened under the pasties, which was an odd sensation. He quickly adjusted his gaze to her face again, a soft blush creeping up his own, and the flame of boldness that had carried her in here ignited again. She was practically naked in front of him, and yes, she was going to dance, but it wasn't going to be like before.

Vegeta tested the give in the scarves and then quirked a brow at her. 'This is supposed to restrain me how?'

'If you break the scarves I'll scream for Tony, and he'll come running back in here. I don't think you'll want that.'

His lips curled up another tiny amount, though somehow he retained his scowl.

'I had no idea you were such a harlot.'

'You don't really know anything about me,' she said, choosing not to be insulted by the word. Fine, tonight she was a harlot, just for the fun of it.

'I know you can't dance worth a damn.'

She stamped her foot as he poked at her earlier embarrassment. 'Well, this is a private dance, so it's something different. Something _special_.'

'You don't have any shoes on, so I don't have that to look forward to.'

She squealed at him through her teeth. 'Keep going that way, Buddy and you'll regret it!'

Vegeta grinned. 'Last time I was tied to a chair like this a fool tried to torture me. Is that what you're going to do?'

Bulma was seriously tempted to slap him for ruining the mood, but this gave her an in. She leaned over and pushed his shoulders so he was flat against the slightly reclined chair back.

'In a manner of speaking.'

'Torture by dance?' he pondered. 'I've never heard of that one, but if anyone can pull it off, it's you.'

She jerked his shoulders roughly as she pulled away, giving him the stink eye as she wondered how to begin. This music had a good beat, but it was softer and more melodic than what she'd had to dance to on stage. Closing her eyes, she swayed her hips, letting it move her. Her fingers began to twitch and then her shoulders moved a little, keeping up with the beat.

Vegeta didn't know what to make of any of this. He was lost without answers to his questions. Was this a weird Earth thing that he hadn't encountered yet? His first concern was that she and her mother had somehow been taken as pleasure slaves, but Bulma's indignation and saying that they should go home earlier didn't line up with that scenario. Was she secretly a courtesan on the side? He'd never seen or smelt any sign of it. Half of him was mournful at the thought; angry and hurt, and the other half was asking why the first half gave a crap. He only wanted to bone the blue-haired brainiac, so what did it matter what she did in her spare time?

The parts of him that wanted to just bone her were stirring with heat and blood. In this chair he was about eye level with her crotch as she minced her legs about. The overtly erotic scraps she wore were almost as good as the sight of her naked, and the acres of bare skin flooded his nose with her scent. He had had a short acquaintance with the soft skin of her inner thighs and was more than ready to renew it. The scarves pulled taut on his wrists as he unconsciously leaned towards her, trying to get closer to her. The mesh body suit hugged her breasts and belly, moulding her G-string over her nether lips, and he wanted them swollen and weeping with desire for him.

He took a deep breath, wondering if she had been telling the truth about the torture. If that really was her game then it was going to suck for him, but he wouldn't let her win.

Her dancing game was weak. He'd never seen tweens dancing at a school disco, so couldn't make the comparison, but rolled his eyes and snorted.

'You dance like Nappa,' he said.

Her eyes flew open, flashing with annoyance. 'Did Nappa do this?' she asked, and raised her arms above her head, then wiggled her body down towards the ground, spreading her knees so that the narrow band of fabric that covered her naughty bits had to really earn it's keep. Then her hands dropped down over her body, snaking over her breasts and reaching down to stroke over her inner thighs and then over those naughty bits like Vegeta's eyes were trying to, imagining her imagining him touching her.

'Ahh…!' she moaned, and Vegeta came to the edge of his seat – straining on the scarves again. Nope, Nappa had never done that.

'Uh,' he said, eyes glued, the question forgotten before he had time to answer it.

Bulma was satisfied enough with the reaction to that dance move. She'd seen it in a few movies – usually crime dramas with gratuitous scenes featuring police detectives meeting perps or witnesses in strip clubs. She planted her hands on the seat of the chair either side of Vegeta's legs and then surged forward and up, arching so that her body rose in front of his face as she stood. Vegeta's nose skimmed her so closely that the V of the body suit got caught on it for a moment.

He grunted and blinked, but seemed unable to look away from her.

She smirked and swayed from side to side. 'Is that all you have to say?' she teased.

Suddenly his eyes snapped to hers, and with unexpected steel he replied, 'Is that the best you can do?'

Her smirk hardened. She didn't know what his attitude was about, but he'd seemed plenty enticed by those moves, but now he was pretending he wasn't. Well fine – she would take him to the point where his lust for her was undeniable!

'No,' she purred, and put her knees where her hands had been, straddling Vegeta's. He leant back now, though she was more than close enough for him to stick his nose in her belly button if he wanted.

Vegeta wanted all right. She began to sway again in time to the music, her hips swaying back and forth now, rolling like a rider in the saddle. He wanted to break the stupid scarves, but he didn't want the dance to end, and he wanted to lick her stomach, but that would give away how much she already had him.

His eyes moved up and down. Bulma saw his gaze settle on the cleft of her legs and felt giddiness surge down her belly to blossom there with wonderful heat. He suddenly sat straight again, and she bumped against his chest softly on the next beat, and his parted lips brushed her abdomen. Another pulse of giddiness hit her with Vegeta's hot breath on the skin of her belly. He pulled back the next moment though.

'Having fun yet?' she asked.

His pupils were dilated to pools of darkness and all her instincts told her that that meant he was. 'Well, you certainly are,' he said.

Bulma blushed hard. 'Ho, ho, ho, Vegeta, don't deny it.' She reached down to where the crotch of his loose chino was bulging, and gently squeezed it.

'Uh,' he grunted, involuntarily pushing against her hand. 'How do you know that's for you?' he croaked out.

'What are you saying?' Bulma asked. 'That's it's for my mom?'

Vegeta jerked so hard that the chair rocked on its legs and he hissed. 'Why would you even mention that woman at a time like this?'

Well, that was a strong negative reaction. 'It was you that suggested that you're sporting wood for someone else!'

Vegeta glared up at her.

'Do you admit it's for me then?'

He didn't answer; he just rocked his hips to press himself into her hand again. Now it was Bulma's turn to moan as the hopeless gesture of arousal swelled hers. She leaned forward, putting her hands on the back of the chair to steady herself as she rocked her hips lower and lower, her thighs scraping the cloth of his trousers now. Vegeta lay back, his eyes travelling up her throat to her face, and it was almost as if she could feel his gaze touching her. She hovered over his face as her hips mimicked the movements of sex, feeling a jolt when Vegeta moved his own to meet with a gentle grind in the middle. Vegeta's mouth was open, practically panting, and she found she was too, their breath mingling. Now that she'd embarked on this course she found there was nothing she wanted more than to kiss him hard, unzip his pants and go for it.

Her eyes drooped half closed, and before she realised what she was doing her open lips brushed against his. His tongue came out to greet them and she remembered herself, pulling away. No! She wasn't just going to just hand herself over to him if he was going to be all casual and dismissive about her effect on him. She held the power in this situation, so she was going to wait until he asked for it! No, _begged_ for it!

Kneeling up tall, she grabbed a lungful of cool air (the air around Vegeta had become all hot and fuggy feeling somehow) and then stood up, turning around to show him her back.

Vegeta leaned forward, snapping his teeth as she slipped out of his reach. The view of the back of her was nothing to be sniffed at though. She did her wiggle-dance again, and now somehow it was far more erotic with the bare cheeks and the thong like floss between her buttocks. She leaned forward, shifting her hips from side to side as she reached down to touch the floor and he was entranced as she offered him a view, and yes, those lips were plump now and he yearned for the feeling that went with the sight.

Looking over her shoulder she backed up onto the chair, placing one knee either side of his, gripping his wrists as she started to grind the air above him. The shape of her back, the smooth line of her spine and the small muscles sliding under her skin as she worked herself had him opening and closing his fists convulsively. He needed to _touch her_.

Bulma could feel the muscles of his strong forearms moving under her hands and their movement excited her more. Then something soft and silky brushed over her back and she halted, trying to work out what he was touching her with when both his arms were under her hands. Then the thing snaked around her ribs, rising up to drag over her breasts and she saw.

'Hey, that's cheating, Vegeta!'

'I didn't know tails were against the rules.'

'Well now you do. Be grateful I didn't tie that down too.'

She shivered as it withdrew, tickling her along the way. Damn, why did she have to be such a spoil sport to her own self? But she had to reign herself in somehow or else this wasn't going to be just a sexy dance. Each rock of her hips, each thought that he was watching her from behind, being teased by the sight of her was making her centre pulse with lazy sparks of lust. One thrust accidentally bumped against the bulge of his trousers, and then she couldn't stop herself, bouncing against him again and again; the small touches were driving her crazy. Vegeta groaned, pushing back, and she lost it, moaning as she pushed her pussy against him.

She was losing control of herself. She'd wanted to give Vegeta a sexy dance that they would both enjoy, but now her blood was thundering and she wanted _sex_ , not a sexy dance.

The skin between her hands and Vegeta's wrists became slippery with sweat, and she lost her grip with one. Vegeta tangled her fingers in his as her hand slid past.

'Admit it, this is a pretty good dance,' she panted out.

'It's awful,' he groaned, and she shook her head, climbing off the chair again.

'Oh, really? How about this then?'

She turned around again and straddled him close to his body, positioning herself so that as she moved up and down her breasts moved past his face. Vegeta closed his eyes tightly and then opened then again, the chair jerking as he forgot about his wrists being tied again. He rested his head back against the chairback as if trying to get away, and then surged forward again like he didn't know what he wanted. Suddenly he turned his head and caught the mesh of the bodysuit between his teeth. Bulma squeaked, but he pulled it aside, freeing one breast. She slowed and almost stopped her movement as he went after her breast like he was bobbing for apples. His tongue slid against her skin and then his teeth scraped and hooked on the bottom of the pastie. Before she could register what was happening (not that she was thinking at the top of her game right then), he ripped the pastie off with his teeth and spat it on the floor. She yelped at the sensation of the body glue coming off, but then sighed loudly as Vegeta salved the skin with his lips, taking half her breast into his mouth, rolling her nipple around with his tongue and sucking, lips moving greedily as he suckled her bosom.

Bulma found her knees melting and she sat down in his lap. He bucked against her, growling, moving her whole body up and down as he ground up into her, and she whimpered, her willpower unequal to the task of lifting her up again.

When he let go of her breast she pressed the other one to him, silently demanding the same treatment for that one too. He obliged, and her thighs trembled. She could feel wetness at the top of her legs; she was surely making a mess of his pants.

'Uh, Vegeta!' she mewled, but that wasn't right; he was meant to be begging _her_.

He rocked into her, friction sending electric trickles of pleasure through her loins, but finally, against her basest wishes she pulled away.

'Hey!' said Vegeta, chest heaving. 'Where are you going?'

'Well, as I'm the only one enjoying myself I thought I'd take things elsewhere. Just "dance" for myself, maybe.'

She started to slide off backwards, but Vegeta raised his legs, trapping her on his lap. Seeking another way free, she stood on the chair, getting both feet on one side before stepping one foot down to the ground. Vegeta caught one nipple on his teeth again as she went past, and she stopped, afraid he would bite her, stuck straddling his arm with one foot on the floor.

'Be careful with me!' she warned, and then his teeth were gone, replaced by tongue and lips, laving gently, over and over and over. Oh dear, she couldn't leave that sensation behind, and she hovered where she was, letting him pleasure her.

The crotch of her bodysuit brushed his forearm and she knew he'd be able to feel the slickness there. She was so turned on that just that tiniest of touches excited her, and she couldn't help it – desperate for more she rolled her hips, dragging her swollen clit against him. Vegeta groaned against her breast, then turned his hand in the binding of the scarf and grabbed her ass, kneading her cheek. She edged herself backwards until his fingers were under her, trailing along the soaked fabric of the bodysuit and thong. With a twitch of his hand she was exposed, and his fingertips glided over her opening, one sliding ever so slightly inside. Bulma almost sobbed.

'Vegeta,' she whispered, her hand reaching down to the button of his trousers. 'I want to take you out and play with you,' she crooned, tugging the button undone. She had never talked like this to Yamcha during sex – it just would have seemed too silly, but she felt so incredibly sexy right now the words just dripped out for Vegeta. The zipper came next, and then she was in the humid space of his pants. He had left the house commando, and his member was lodged in there pretty tight, like an iron bar bent in half before she eased it out. She gripped him tight and he pressed into her hand, letting out a shuddering breath that was the closest to begging that she'd heard him make.

'Don't you think…this is a pretty good dance?'

Like a machine run out of oil he seized up, then spat her boob out, breathing hard. 'You are good,' he admitted at last, his voice husky. 'Do you do this every Saturday night?'

The music cut out, and in the sudden quiet Bulma stared down at him, mystified by the digression from the script she thought they would be following.

'Huh?' Of course not.'

'But you've done this before.'

'No.' What was he on about?

He was glaring at her, hazy with lust, but now that she was paying attention she could see he was still angry.

'I don't like to _share_ my women,' he said coldly.

It was strange that Vegeta felt like he did, but he did and he couldn't _abide_ the thought. It wasn't a rule he'd ever had before. He'd never spent more than one night with a woman, just as he never spent more than a night in any spot except on one of Frieza's planets or ships. That had just been the reality of his life. He could have been sharing those women and he'd never have known – all that had mattered to him was that they were ready, willing and able. They could have been whores or housewives for all he'd known, and as opportunity had knocked as infrequently as it did he hadn't bothered making such enquiries. And now he wanted Bulma so bad it felt like the difference between life or death hung on the act, but he hated the thought that she was just fitting him in her schedule of men.

Bulma was silent for a moment as she digested each part of that sentence. _My women_ was a puzzle. Did he mean "his" as in his girlfriend, in a kind of possessive and chauvinistic way? And he doesn't like to _share_ his girlfriends?

_He thinks I'm a slut or possibly a prostitute. Where the hell did he get that idea?_

She tried to lift herself from the undignified position she realised she was in and caught a glimpse of herself in the gilded mirror between the faded red drapes. Well, maybe the wrong conclusion was not _so_ hard to jump to right this second. Damn, why was everything to do with jumping Vegeta complicated and confusing? She just wanted to fuck right now!

She eased herself back down, trying to look as sexy as she could in a one-legged crouch.

'I am not a professional stripper or a man-eating nymphomaniac, if that's what you're thinking,' she said calmly. 'And I don't share my men, either, AT ALL, so think about that.'

Vegeta was relieved, but still confused. The particulars of this situation were obviously still not apparent to him. Then he thought about the second half of what she said.

'Are you referring to me?'

'I don't know,' she said, and slid her hand up the shaft of his dick. Ugh, he couldn't think when she did that! 'Am I your "woman", Vegeta? Does that make you my "man"?' She rocked her hips again, spreading the warmth over his hand. 'I want you to know that I don't have sex with just anyone. Only the special men in my life – _one_ special man.'

Some part of Vegeta glowed at that. Damn right, he was special.

'You won't meet anyone more special than me!' he told her and she laughed, but quickly agreed.

'You're right, I don't think I will!'

Feeling put at ease, he let her work her fist up and down his cock. Her breasts bounced with the movement, and he leaned forward slightly, letting them bump against this face like the softest, most pleasantly fragrant pummelling of his life, licking the skin and passing nipples.

The sensations were starting to build in Bulma again; his face and stubble tickled against the skin of her chest and that tail of his had gotten free again and was coiling up her thigh. Vegeta's fingers curled against her clit, beckoning, sliding, promising…She moved against them again – why had she tied him to a chair? How silly of her!

'Oh,' she sighed breathlessly. 'Vegeta, do you…do you want to fuck me?'

He throbbed with lust at the dirty word coming from her lips, and pushed into her fist faster. 'Yes.'

'Am I your woman? Are you my man?' Her hips swung harder, impaling herself deeply on his fingers, hot and tight and slippery.

'Hurhh,' he groaned.

'Are you?'

'Yes!'

Bulma felt him lift her – at what point had he broken the bonds? - and drop her into his lap. For a second she couldn't move as his hands and tail mobbed her, taking their fill after being sidelined for so long. His fingers swept her back and hips and ribs and he kissed the base of her throat, then sucked, licked his way higher as he let her lower herself, shaking with anticipation.

_Oh, sweet bliss!_

He filled her, each inch a silky caress of pleasure that cleaved the ache of emptiness between her legs, but of course that alone wasn't enough. As she reared up and came down on his lap again he caught her by the back of her head and brought her face down to kiss him. Kissing her deeply, plunging into her deeply, his hands gripping her hips tight, his grunts of unfettered gratification muffled in their kiss – they were riding their way to ecstasy. Each moment felt like it could be Bulma's last before she lost it to blinding orgasm, but she wanted this to last as long as it could; her plateau went on and on, and if it lasted forever she would spend eternity awash in pleasure. The curtain opened but Bulma didn't give a crap. Vegeta wasn't turning into a giant monkey, the paparazzi weren't there, and she wasn't stopping for anything.

'Jeez, what the…!'

The curtain was shut again, and Vegeta and Bulma clutched at each other, trying to come closer with each thrust. The tingling started coiling out of Bulma's core, snaking up through her stomach and down through her legs, like embers stirred by the relentless and quickening pace of their rutting. Just when she thought she was about there, Vegeta gripped her under her ass, stood and pressed her up against the wall, pounding into her in a mad pace that pushed her past the point where she would normally come, and instead she was winding higher and higher, hyperventilating as she felt her body turn boneless like putty and then harden again from her core outwards, desperately needing that hardness of Vegeta to slam into her, push her, push her, push her over that edge…

She screamed as she came; the wave making the hair on her head stand on end as it rushed over her, and all the way down to her toes it went, her whole body alight with pleasure. She recoiled, muscles jumping helplessly, eyes closed and gasping out as her orgasm pounded through her. Vegeta cried out once, then twice, and then with a shudder and a roar he came, his legs giving way. They fell down the wall, still moving weakly against each other as they rode it out.

Vegeta collapsed on his back and Bulma landed on top of him, as limp as a fresh fish fillet, and when she tried to move the muscles of her thighs trembled and decided to go on strike. She settled for lifting her head from his shoulder and looking down at him. She couldn't help grinning. Not only had she just had sex with Vegeta. Not only was that was the best sex of her life. That had been the best sex of her life and it was with Vegeta! She'd really been on to something when she'd asked him to come live at her house.

'Fuck me,' croaked Vegeta, still panting hard.

'Didn't I just?'

Taken by surprised, Vegeta laughed and Bulma goggled at his face, all curved into lines of happiness for a few seconds, up close and personal, and her heart swelled and overflowed. Oh, damn, she would do a lot to see that expression more often. She could see it as her new life's goal to make Vegeta laugh every day. She laughed too, but with joy. With panic she felt tears prickle in her eyes.

_I've got to get away, my head's been melted by sex and I can't let him see me brought to tears of happiness by his laughing!_

'Well, I guess I'd better go get cleaned up so we can get out of here,' she said briskly, pushing herself up on her arms. 'Are you hungry? Stupid question, huh? We could get some food in town before we go home.'

Vegeta smirked, watching her go. 'For once your blathering makes sense.'

She was stuck to Vegeta's polo shirt by sweat, and she couldn't help creaking with the effort of getting to her feet. They had made quite a mess of his clothes actually. Maybe they would have to go directly home after all.

With a grin over her shoulder she pulled the body suit back in place and stuck her head out of the curtain. No one was in sight in the corridor, so she trotted down it back to the dressing room with her knees locked together. Oh dear, she needed Kleenex!

* * *

Vegeta lay on his back for a minute. He should feel revolted by his surroundings, the circumstance, the lowliness of the position he found himself in, but all he could feel was deep contentment. All this time he'd been striving so hard for success, but now he'd achieved a success that washed all sense of failure out of him. He would barely acknowledge the desire he'd been feeling for Bulma two weeks ago, and now look at what had happened. What a dangerous woman – a few servings of that a week and he'd probably forget all about destroying androids, Kakarott and turning Super Saiyan.

Abruptly, some of the weight settled back in his stomach.

 _You had to go spoil it_ , he complained to himself.

_Yes I DID! Nothing is more important that our pride! Or have you forgotten the humiliation our life has become?_

He got up, scowled at the state of his reflection in the mirror and began to straighten his clothes. His woman had some kind of power of him to make him forget himself and that was dangerous. Next time, _if_ there was a next time, would be on his time, his terms, and his territory.

* * *

Making it to the dressing room, Bulma sighed with happiness and helped herself to some handfuls of tissues from someone's dressing table. She was busy making use of them when she realised there was someone else in the room. A young red headed woman was sat at another table watching her. Bulma froze, taking in the girl's wide-eyed expression.

'Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here, I was-'

'Oh, it's okay,' said the girl quickly. 'Well, I gotta go do my set. See you.' And she hurried out to the stage.

Bulma had turned completely red, and she shook her head at her own life. She found her dress and sneakers dumped on the floor and was looking for her underwear, though she'd dumped half the contents of the rummage box on the floor too when she was putting her outfit together. Her phone rang and she fished it out of her dress pocket, so expecting it to be her father that she didn't check the caller ID.

'Yeah, I'm okay, thanks for checking!' she said.

'Oh, good,' said Yamcha's relieved voice.

'Oh, sorry, Yamcha! I was expecting my dad.' She had to appreciate the sense of dislocation at hearing her ex-boyfriend's voice while she was still basking in the post-coital glow given her by her new man. _Hmm, new man!_ 'What's up?'

'I got this call from a woman called Sweda Turnup who said she was from Capsule Corp's PR department. Does that sound right?'

Bulma gawped. The nerve of that woman! 'Yes, and no! What did she say?'

'She wondered if you were all right and if I could tell you to answer her calls. She said that she'd been trying to call you all day and it was very urgent. I was starting to get worried too, 'cause this is the third time I've tried to call you tonight. Is it about the press conference you did?'

'I haven't done the press conference yet,' she said, irritated beyond belief that Sweda was stalking her.

'Really? I thought you said it was going to be today.'

'No, it's-' Bulma's heart stopped. Oh god, it _was_ today! She took her ear away from the phone and glanced at the time – 6.45pm.

'Fuck! Yamcha, I've got to go!'

'Oka-'

Hanging up she saw an incredible list of missed calls and texts from Sweda's number. Cringing, she dialled the number and didn't even wait one ring before Sweda answered.

'Ms Briefs, please tell me you were involved in some sort of major traffic accident or similar!'

'I…I…' Bulma didn't know what to say. 'Yes, similar, in that it was a complete _disaster_ , yes!'

'Where are you? Can you be here in ten minutes? I've been stalling the press for the last half an hour, telling them that you're stuck in traffic.'

'I don't know,' said Bulma. She didn't have a hoverjet on her and her car was back at her mother's apartment building and that was a good twenty minute drive from the house…

'Do it!' barked the woman. 'If you miss your own press conference it will destroy what's left of your reputation! I may as well hand in my resignation if you don't front to the public. You look like a flake and a coward right now!'

'Shit!' cried Bulma, standing up. 'I'll get there, Turnup – keep stalling them!'

She hung up, dropped the phone to ram her dress back on over the bodysuit – no time for finding her underwear now. She shoved her sneakers back on, grabbed her phone and went tearing down the corridor to where Vegeta was just emerging from the alcove.

'Vegeta, Vegeta, you gotta fly me, please! It's an emergency!'

'What?'

She wrapped her arms around his neck desperately as if he would run off before she could get him to comply.

'I need you to take me to Capsule Corp headquarters as fast as Saiyanly possible! Please, Vegeta!'

'Why?' he asked, looking outraged by the request. 'You have your vehicle. I thought being caught flying about the city was a bad thing. That's what you always told _me!_ '

'Well, you'll have to not let anyone see.'

'What could be so important?'

'It's a matter of pride and reputation!' she said. ' _My_ pride, _my_ reputation are on a knife edge! I've got to get to HQ in the next ten minutes or I'll be finished!'

He frowned into her face for a moment, and then pulled her to him hard.

'So you see that the loss of one's pride is no laughing matter? Just this once, I'll do it.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So, I have two more chapters planned-ish for this story, but given that it took me two years to create these last two chapters, who knows how long it will take for me to write them? Believe it or not, I wrote these NSFW chapters mostly at work (hope no one goes poking around my hard drive!) in such teeny piecemeal...
> 
> I feel extra sorry for Adli, who had to beta this lunatic drivel. Take a bow, woman! Adli has been extra good to me lately, betaing three chapters in two days.
> 
> And yes, there was reference to another Rhianna song in there.
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment, guys! I can't hear your laughter or your pained groans over the internets, so you're going to have to drop a note to let me know how this made you feel.


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